Liberty's Bride

LIBERTY'S BRIDE Sandra Madden

About the Author Publishing Information

Chapter 1 September 30, 1776 “We are leaving Savannah and returning to England,” Amelia declared with a happiness she had not felt since arriving in North America. As she strolled in the garden with Grandmother Nell, the future had become clear to her. “We are going home, Grandmother. I shall explain to Sir Basil that until the hostilities are settled in this uncivilized country we feel it safer to be home among friends.”

She had barely spoken the words when a rough, calloused hand clamped over Amelia Anne Farnthorpe’s mouth. The move muzzled a scream that surely would have been carried twenty miles or more on the Georgia autumn breeze. Her body stiffened with fear; her basket of flowers flew through the air, tossing flaming hibiscus everywhere. “Easy now,” A husky male voice growled in her ear. “Easy.” Just when she thought she would certainly swoon, an arm of steel caught her around the waist and drew her back against her captor. She blinked. The sensation was much like being pressed against a rock. She was being held prisoner by a man made like a mountain. Squeezing her eyes shut, Amelia prepared to die. The American Colonies truly formed a cold, cruel country. The bandit’s breath warmed her cheek as he spoke. “Relax, sweet thing, you’re mine now.” His mocking tone angered Amelia. Summoning her strength, she attempted to free herself by lunging from the rogue’s firm grip.

He chuckled—and tightened it. She’d gotten nowhere. White-hot spots of fury danced before her eyes. “Do not fight me,” he warned. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll remove my hand from your mouth, if you promise not to scream. Do I have your word?” Amelia vigorously bobbed her head up and down. “If you were to be untruthful with me, I cannot promise what would happen to your grandmother. I am not alone.” Her grandmother! The scoundrel dared to threaten a harmless old lady. In her terrorized state Amelia had completely forgotten her grandmother. She glanced to where Nell stood. Unharmed, but closely guarded by yet another villain, her grandmother looked on in confusion. “You will be reasonable and quiet now, won’t you? Screaming will serve no purpose. And you understand what a fuss might force me to do?” Unthinkable things. Amelia nodded her head. The hand fell away from her mouth. She stood motionless. “Wh—what are you going

to do with us?” To her horror, Amelia’s voice squeaked like a meek meadow mouse. “I’m going to release you and then we’ll walk back to the house.” He slowly withdrew his arm from her waist. “And then?” she asked warily. “And then I’m going to marry you.” “What?” Aghast, she whirled to face her captor. And sucked in her breath. He was magnificent. Tall, dark, handsome- and dangerous. He towered over her like a warrior king blatantly inspecting his booty. The top of her head reached only his shoulder. A rush of dizziness claimed her from head to toe. His eyes, a bright, light green, gleamed like the devil’s own as they skimmed down her frozen form. The demon had bound his long black hair, with the sheen of a raven’s wing, at the nape of his neck with a leather strip. A faint shadow of stubble fell across the lower portion of his dark and leathered face. The strong, square jaw and aquiline nose; features she might have regarded as noble under different circumstances, appeared fierce and

forbidding. But it was the sardonic twist of his mouth and the arrogant manner in which he held himself that made her react as she did. Amelia kicked him in the shin. As she spun to run for her life, the giant grabbed her arm with lightning-like speed and jerked her back with such force that she tripped on the hem of her dress and lost her balance. She wobbled precariously as he helped to steady her. But as soon as both of her feet were firmly on the ground, Amelia attempted to bolt again. With strength that surprised even her, she managed to throw off the bandit’s arm. Taking one quick step backward as she prepared to turn and run, Amelia fell over her flower basket. She dropped lo the ground like a sack of meal, smack on her tender derriere. Scrambling to right herself and restore some semblance of dignity, Amelia lost her footing, sending one of her slippers flying through the air as she fell back. Sprawled spread-eagle on the ground in a most unladylike position, she panted for breath. In the instant she paused to collect herself, the

rogue came down on her, straddling his knees on either side of her body and pinning her arms above her head. She flailed and kicked to no avail, screaming insults she would have blushed to hear from another’s tongue. “Remove yourself, you heathen scoundrel! Die a black death, scum!” Appearing mildly amused, the villain tsked. “Whoever reported you as sweet and biddable was sadly mistaken.” Even as he shook his head in mock dismay, his eyes darkened in a menacing fashion and he tightened his clasp on her wrists. “I don’t want to hurt you but I will do what I must. Do you understand me?” Amelia swung her head away from his evil green glare. It was no use. She could not overcome the green-eyed giant’s considerable physical power. She would have to bide her time and depend upon her wits. “Do you understand me?” he repeated. The heathen’s impatient tone suggested she was either deaf or slow. Perhaps both. “Yes,” she hissed. His eyes bore through her. She could feel the tension and heat curling from his body like summer

smoke. At last he released her wrists and stood. Silent seconds passed as she waited for him to help her. He glowered down at her. She stared up at him. The moments ticked away quietly until finally he held out a large, calloused hand and hauled her to her feet. Her black silk dress was torn and splotched with red dirt. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders in a wild, dusty tangle. Amelia shot the magnificent scoundrel a glance of undisguised contempt as she brushed off her dress. “Who are you and why do you attack defenseless women?” “Attack is too strong a word. Defenseless is not quite accurate either.” “What do you want?” “Did you think I spoke in jest?” He arched an eyebrow, and when she did not respond, he tersely explained. “I require an English bride.” “What makes you think I would ever marry the likes of you?” she snapped. He chuckled. “The musket my partner holds is

very persuasive. Let’s go. The preacher is wailing.” Seemingly oblivious to their dilemma, Amelia’s grandmother had resumed picking flowers. The young boy guarding Nell politely held her flower basket as well as his weapon. Her grandmother’s sanguine smile filled Amelia with fresh irritation, but she recognized it as Nell’s laudanum smile. It was probably just as well the older woman was not aware of their dire situation. “Come, Grandmother.” Amelia placed a protective arm around the old woman’s shoulder. Juniper trees and deep green hedges of azalea bushes lined the wide brick path that led from the stylish gardens to the main house. In the distance a circle of gray smoke drifted lazily up toward the pale blue sky. A squirrel scampered across their path and two small blackbirds flew in chase above them. It was an ordinary, unremarkable day to any eye but Amelia’s. Her gaze darted anxiously about, seeking a means of escape or someone to aid them. But Sir Basil had traveled to his own plantation earlier, and the workers and the foreman were out in the rice

fields. Only the house servants could help and she doubted if they were capable. Directly ahead, the tranquil beauty of the grand Georgia plantation home promised hospitality. Six graceful columns rose along the sweeping back veranda of the white two-story dwelling. To Amelia’s consternation each pillar now served as a leaning post for bandit sentries holding long-rifles and muskets. The young boy walked beside her grandmother. The hulking bandit stayed close to Amelia’s side as they approached her North American home. She studied the rogue from the corner of her eye. Powerful shoulders strained under a plain homespun shirt. His cotton breeches were molded to muscular thighs and his leggings stretched tight along long, hard muscular legs. She could almost touch the swell of strength which emanated from his body, overwhelming and ominous. He could only be a revolutionary - a dangerous rebel Patriot. Amelia felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. She could not give in to this madness without a fight. “I cannot marry you. I am already engaged to be wed,” she ventured calmly.

“An engagement about to be broken.” “I cannot marry while I am in mourning for my father. It is against all rules of polite society.” “New rules are being made every day in North America.” He had no heart. She offered her final argument. “Not only am I engaged, my grandmother and I have plans to return to England in a fortnight. We are not suited to this country.” “I will see you on a ship sailing for England at the first possible moment.” Amelia stopped short at the steps leading to the veranda. “Why me? Why must you marry me?” “’Tis your sweet disposition that attracted me at once.” “You are despicable.” “I have my orders. You were chosen to be my bride. I had nothing to say in the decision.” “I will not marry you.” She stomped her foot, causing a swirl of red dust to rise and choke her. In one smooth move the rough-hewn monster swooped her into his arms and carried her up the steps to the veranda. “Put me down!”

“I have no taste for marriage myself,” he told her in a commiserating tone as he set her down. “But I will do what I must.” Desperately determined to stop this insanity, she dug her fists into her hips to confront him yet again. “Who will marry us against my will?” “This man.” He pointed to one of the sentries who now stood at attention on the veranda. “Are you ready, preacher?” A tall, gaunt man with a large, hooked nose and a ruddy, pinched expression nodded. The preacher carried a musket. He handed his weapon to the boy, who in turn gave him a small prayer book. As the preacher thumbed through its pages, the boy removed his hat. Amelia watched with wonderment as a mass of black curls, hidden beneath the hat, fell to the boy’s shoulders. The slender boy who guarded her grandmother became a pretty young girl very close to Amelia’s age. “Dearly beloved ...” “No!” she cried in panic. “Stop!” “Amelia, I cannot tolerate any further delays,” her

would-be groom warned. “Is it money you want?” His lips curled into a wry smile. “How crass a thought. You’re priceless, sweet thing. I would not trade the world for you.” He gave a slight nod to the preacher who began to read haltingly once again from his little black book. In mounting despair, Amelia looked to her grandmother. Nell dabbed at the tears on her cheeks, her smile directed at the ragtag preacher. The old woman adored weddings, and in her drugged state the propriety of this particular ceremony did not concern her. This was worse than a nightmare. Amelia had been cast as a player, an actress on a stage with improbable characters. Worse, she had no lines. She was numb with shock, caught in an odious charade - just when she was about to make her dream of returning to England come true. Amelia couldn’t let it happen, would not allow it to happen. Clamping down on her lip, she made a move to bolt, but the giant’s arm shot out to restrain her. His fingers curled around her wrist like the

stinging lash of a whip. Frantically, she scanned the faces surrounding her, but saw no compassion for her plight. She was doomed. “If anyone might know of a reason why this couple should not be joined in holy mat—mat... ma-tree-monee, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.” The dark stranger beside her stood rigidly, like a man listening to his death sentence. She could feel his tension, his heat. “I…I ...I don’t even know his name!” Amelia protested. Since no one else seemed willing to save her, she spoke up for herself, blinking through the tears welling in her eyes. “Quinn Hallet,” the black-haired beast obliged Amelia under his breath. Amelia choked on a sob. “I now pronounce you, man and wife.” “But - but I did not say ‘I do.’” Amelia’s stammered objection dissolved into silence. An awkward silence. It was broken by the bandit beside her. “May I kiss the bride?” “No!” Amelia shrieked, but her objection was

drowned out by the rowdy cheers from Quinn’s contingent. Before she could move, Quinn swept her into his arms and crushed her against him. His lips covered her mouth in a hard bruising kiss meant to leave no doubt who was master. But then the cold pressure softened to a warm, hungry quest, a quest her body warmed to, and her will found difficult to resist. It was as if he had transferred a powerful, consuming heat to her with his kiss. Amelia’s heart thudded heavily against her chest. Her knees wobbled. And then through a hazy mist, she heard his men laughing. Furious with herself and the insensitive rebel, Amelia pushed against Quinn’s chest until, with a laugh, he set her free. She rocked unsteadily, contemptuously wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. With a quirk of his lips, he turned from her and began issuing orders with the authority of a general. **** Less than an hour later Amelia stared at the antiquated wagon that would take them on a journey into the unknown. She clutched the one valise she’d

been allowed to take. One of the rag-tag Patriots had stood guard while she and her maid hurriedly packed. Amelia was stunned to learn Josie would not be accompanying her. She’d never traveled without her trusted sweet servant. The drama grew worse. She found it difficult to catch a full deep breath. Her pulse thrummed with fear, fear she was determined not to show. “Sweet thing,” Quinn drawled, “your carriage awaits.” Ignoring the hand the towering traitor held out to help her, Amelia climbed up into the crude covered wagon that awaited them. She would never have deigned to ride in such a conveyance if she’d had any choice. She knew little about horses, but the two large animals tied to the back of the wagon were more to her liking than the thick, unattractive mules pulling the dilapidated conveyance. Grandmother Nell was bedded in the back of the wagon with their valises. Amelia was wedged between Quinn and the girl he called Mary on the open bench seat in front. Sitting uncomfortably erect between her two captors, Amelia consoled herself with the belief that her ingenuity would create an

opportunity for escape before nightfall. “Where are you taking us?” she asked. “You will see in due time,” the rebel replied curtly. With a farewell wave to his men, Quinn Hallet took the reins and drove the wagon east from the plantation. After a few hours of tense silent travel, Amelia took note when he turned south. On either side of the road, huge live oaks dripping with Spanish moss spread their magnificent branches like a massive, gray-green umbrella. The underbrush became a thick, tangled riot of great billowing bushes which gave off mixed scents of decay and fresh growth. With each bounce of the wagon, Quinn became more uncomfortably aware of the lovely warm body that brushed against his. He would have preferred a homely bride who smelled of bread rather than roses. He’d been stunned when Amelia first wheeled on him in the garden where he’d taken her captive. He’d been surprised by her beauty and transfixed by wide, crystal-blue eyes iced with alarm. Spiral curls, the color of sand streaked with gold, had tumbled in disarray about her shoulders. Even now his fingers

begged to twine through the strands of her fine, silky curls, to explore the enticing hollow between her breasts. Quinn wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, but could do nothing about his particular body heat. It had been months since he’d known the pleasures of a woman, but Amelia Farnthorpe, of all women, would not do. If he did not keep his mind on business, she might literally prove to be the death of him. He was at war. And she was the enemy. The intelligence information Quinn had been given regarding the girl had fallen short of the mark. Now he worried what other surprises might be in store during his mission. “Mary, what else was said about Amelia Farnthorpe other than the mistaken notion that she is sweet and biddable?” Amelia shifted in her seat and raised her chin. “She lived with her grandmother in England while her father recouped the family fortune here in North America. She was educated by tutors,” Mary recited from memory. “She is fond of music, dance, and

gardening. Amelia has lived a privileged life and is sorely spoiled—” “I beg your pardon!” the hostage cried indignantly. “And may I remind you that I’m sitting right here?” “She is a slave to fashion—” “I am not a slave to anything!” “... And will read anything in print.” “I do no such thing. I am a discriminating reader.” “She is nineteen years of age—” “Incorrect. I will shortly be celebrating my twentieth year.” “Almost a spinster,” Quinn drawled. Amelia flashed him a lethal scowl. “Though possessing a sweet and biddable disposition, the subject has been known to act impetuously and display an unseemly spark of temper on occasion.” “Never!” “Sweet thing, you had us fooled,” Quinn intoned dryly. Mary continued as if there had been no interruption. “She is new to North America. Her father, Charles Farnthorpe, brought her to Georgia

two months ago expressly to marry Sir Basil Roberts. The terms of the marriage agreement stated Roberts would eventually inherit the Farnthorpe plantation and Amelia would gain a title. Shortly after her arrival, however, Mr. Farnthorpe’s heart stopped. Her father is dead and she has not yet made acquaintances in the area. There are few to notice her absence from the plantation.” “I will be sorely missed by several dear friends,” she insisted. “And my grandmother and I are still in mourning. If you had any heart, you would release us immediately.” Quinn glanced at Amelia. Her blue eyes blazed with anger and heart-wrenching pain. “I am sorry for your loss,” he murmured. “Miss Farnthorpe is politically ignorant, knowing no more about the struggle for independence than what her father has told her,” Mary continued. “Ignorant! I understand that all Patriots are traitors to the crown and there is nothing else to know.” “Do you care to hear more?” Mary asked, ignoring Amelia’s outburst. “No, that will do. There are some things a groom likes to discover for himself.” He chuckled softly,

paying no mind to the small, frustrated whimper that came from Amelia. For an unsettling moment, he’d felt a pang of sympathy for his spirited bride. But feelings of any kind for the impetuous and beautiful Miss Farnthorpe could jeopardize the mission. When at last they came to a fork in the road, Mary’s face brightened. “We’re almost there, Quinn.” “Where? Where are you taking us?” Amelia demanded again. “To a safe house where we will rest for the night.” In fact, they were headed on a twofold mission for Saint Augustine, in the Florida territory. A stronghold of the British, the city was completely occupied by persons loyal to the crown. Quinn’s task was to infiltrate and discover if mercenaries were being trained in Saint Augustine to fight the revolutionaries. He had volunteered for the dangerous mission with one thought in mind - the chance to free his brother. Jon was being held in the city’s notoriously impregnable Fort Saint Mark’s prison. Quinn slapped the reins and drove the mules east once again. The sun was setting behind them and a curtain of darkness lay before them.

It was over an hour before they reached a clearing on the north side of the road. A rustic cabin, which looked much like one of the servants quarters on the Farnthorpes’ rice plantation, sat squarely in the middle of a patch of red clay. Certainly they weren’t stopping here, Amelia thought. But they were, indeed. With a cry to the mules and a tug on the reins, Quinn pulled the wagon to a halt before the hovel and jumped down. He helped Mary to alight and then held his arms out to Amelia. She raised her head defiantly. “I am not leaving the wagon.” A hint of amusement played upon his face, but he simply shrugged and said as if it were no matter to him, “Suit yourself.” Soon candlelight flickered from the cabin and smoke poured from the chimney. Amelia considered the opportunity to escape but since she had no idea where they were, nor any experience driving mules, such a scheme seemed doomed. And rescue seemed remote now that darkness had fallen. As she worried over her limited choices, she heard her

grandmother stirring. “Amelia? Are we there?” Nell poked her head from the back of the wagon. “I ... don’t know. Wherever it is we are, we do not want to be here,” she muttered. Amelia helped her grandmother climb into to the seat beside her. How could they run off into this wilderness? “How quaint!” Nell remarked when she spotted the cabin. “How can you say so?” Amelia gasped in astonishment. “It is most primitive. I am amazed at you, Grandmother. And I am extremely curious as to how you were able to sleep back there.” “Oh, laudanum does wonders, dear. I’ve told you so. Here you are all in high nerves. If you take some laudanum, you will feel much better.” “No thank you, Grandmother. I need my wits about me. We must flee at the first opportunity.” But Amelia knew the chances of a successful flight at night were dim. Quinn Hallet knew it, too, she thought. He was willing to let her sit on the wagon all night if she wished. “If you have any ideas on how we can escape, please voice them, Grandmother.” For a moment the two women sat in silence.

“Escape from your new husband? Amelia, I would not do that. He is far better looking than Sir Basil. Did you note the breadth of his shoulders? He is a fine, fine young man.” “Grandmother, Quinn Hallet is a Patriot, which means he is a traitor to our king.” “King who? I never can keep track. Who is the king now?” “It doesn’t matter.” Her grandmother had been in a constant daze ever since they’d left England. Amelia sighed. The laudanum was to blame, she was sure, but she didn’t dare withhold it from Nell, fearing it might be all that kept her grandmother going. The old woman had not been happy since leaving her home and friends in London. “Will you stay on the wagon all night, or would you like to eat?” Quinn shouted from the cabin. “I will dine,” Nell declared before Amelia could stop her. Amelia dared not allow her grandmother to be alone with Mary and Quinn. This time when the dark giant held his arms out to her, she allowed his hands to go around her waist. With a wide grin, Quinn lifted Amelia from the wagon as easily as if she weighed

no more than mischief. “Why did you not just kidnap me? Why did you have to marry me?” “Believe me, if it was not necessary, I wouldn’t have done it.” He turned his back on Amelia to lift one of the heavy hampers from the wagon. The thick muscles of his back rippled and strained against his shirt. Amelia averted her gaze as Quinn swung the hamper to the ground and faced her. “You are the key to our safety. You are my cover.” “Me?” His lips turned upward in a twisted grin. “Since you are my wife, no one will question my devotion to the king. We’re just another family of colonial refugees fleeing from the rebels to Saint Augustine. It is a common occurrence these days. And it is a simple story, one that I expect you can remember.” “You are not simply a rebel rabble-rouser, are you? You are a Patriot spy, Quinn Hallet!” “And what will you do about it, Mrs. Hallet?”

Chapter 2

Amelia had no idea what she could do about her predicament except to flee as fast and as far as possible. “I will not be married to a traitor,” she announced, raising her chin in a most defiant manner. “Regrets, so soon?” Quinn chuckled as he picked up the hamper and strode toward the cabin. Amelia was forced to step aside or be stepped upon. Straightening her shoulders, she drew a deep, quivering breath. “You have disgraced and dishonored me.” Quinn put down the hamper. The muscles in his jaw constricted and his lips barely moved when he ground the words between his teeth. “You are in my country now. If you will but think on it, I am as loyal to this land as you are to England.” Amelia planted her feet and crossed her arms across her chest. She would give anything to be at home in England. “North America is a colony of Great Britain’s. A wild uncultured colony at that.” “Not any longer. Did you not hear the Declaration

of Independence was signed three months ago? Soon everyone will know and there will be great celebrations all over this country.” “Before he passed, my father told me the declaration is a meaningless document signed by traitors and fools,” she countered. A spark of anger flickered in Quinn’s eyes as they locked on hers. “Your ignorance begins to offend me.” “Ignorance?” she repeated incredulously. The heathen had called her ignorant. Amelia longed for the strength to strike the unchivalrous devil down. But words and will were all she possessed to battle this giant of a man who now regarded her through narrowed eyes. “Yes. You are woefully unenlightened. You know nothing about our country.” “It is your ignorance that is truly insufferable,” she argued, ignoring the fact he’d spoken the truth. Determined to return to England from almost the day of her arrival, Amelia had not bothered to learn about North America. “Intelligent men use methods other than insurrection to deal with laws and rules not to their liking.”

“Laws to govern this country cannot be made by men who live and meet in Parliament thousands of miles away, an ocean apart from us,” Quinn shot back. “Men who have in most cases never set foot on North America and know nothing about this continent.” “A wise man does not have to live where he rules.” “A pity then there are no wise men in Great Britain.” Amelia lost her hard-won control. “Quinn Hallet, you are more stubborn than your mules!” she lashed out. “It is no use quarreling with a narrow-minded rebel traitor spy!” “Narrow-minded? Women like you know nothing about politics,” he declared with an impatient wave of his hand. “You would do well to silence your wagging tongue and learn obedience, if you value the life of your grandmother.” “Is that why you brought my grandmother on this horrid journey? As a hostage? To insure I follow your orders? It wasn’t enough to abduct

me and carry me off to this God forsaken place?” Scowling, Quinn hoisted the hamper and stormed into the cabin without responding to her accusation. Amelia stomped her foot and dug her fists into her hips. At every turn, he either threatened or taunted her. He was everything a woman detested in a man. Belligerent, rude - and wrong. He was wrong about the king and Great Britain. Never, never could she be a party to any plot to overthrow King George’s rule. She paced from one end of the wagon to the other. Red dust swirled about her ankles as she marched back and forth in the darkness muttering to herself like a mad woman. But no plan of immediate escape presented itself. The arrogance of Quinn Hallet riled and distracted her. Only a woman who cared more for physical attributes than intellect could love a man such as Quinn. He was ill-mannered and abused the King’s English with every word he spoke. He

woefully lacked refinement and obviously suffered from an incomplete education. Her captor presented a striking contrast to the man she was engaged to wed. Amelia did not doubt for an instant that she would come to love Sir Basil in time. A refined, noble gentleman, the man her father had arranged for her to marry would do anything for her, including allowing her return to a genteel life in England. In the darkness, standing alone outside the cabin, Amelia vowed never to surrender to the Patriot. She would reclaim her dream and return to the country of her birth. At that moment Quinn poked his head out the door and called to her. “Sweet thing, all kinds of four-legged animals are afoot out there. Panther, boar, fox ...” Amelia did not wait to hear what else might be ready to prey upon her. She picked up her skirt and scurried inside past her laughing nemesis. ****

The cramped cabin proved to be woefully unfit. Dust, dirt, and spider webs prevailed everywhere. One main room served as the living area with a fireplace, plank table, and several crude chairs. A hasty inspection of the two small adjoining rooms showed them to be bedchambers of a sort. Amelia lingered in the doorway of the last. It contained an exceedingly small bed. There were four persons in their party -and only two beds. Small beds. Would the rebel stranger expect her to lie with him? She remembered the powerful, melting effect of the kiss he had stolen after the horrid wedding ceremony. Suddenly Amelia’s throat felt as dry as the dusty road they’d traveled all day. “Sweet thing, what are you waiting for? Help Mary with our supper.” Amelia turned from the bedchamber to face her tormentor. Straightening her shoulders and tilting her chin, she coolly responded to his curt order. “If you are referring to our evening meal, I do not cook. I do not know how to cook.” “Now is a good time to learn ...” His voice trailed

off and the mocking gleam in his eyes grew brighter. “That is, if you wish to eat.” Her stomach gurgled in response, but it was due to nerves rather than hunger. How could she possibly even swallow food in the company of a traitor? He turned to her grandmother. “Here’s a rocker just for you, Granny Nell. Sit a spell before dinner.” “You are extremely thoughtful, young man,” Nell said, smiling up at him like a besotted girl as he guided her to the chair. “And very big, too. I always liked that in a man.” “Grandmother!” As mortified as she was by Nell’s candor, Amelia could not help noticing the flush of embarrassment that infused Quinn’s face. Dare she believe that the Patriot might be made of something other than stone? Quinn grinned a bit sheepishly. “Granny Nell, you’ve won my heart, which is more than I can say for my ... wife.” Wife. Amelia grimaced. She might be his prisoner, but she would never be his wife. Before she could respond, Mary directed her to scrub the rickety plank table clean. Though she fumed inwardly, Amelia did not protest. Not only was

physical labor belittling, it would certainly ruin her hands. Mary would never understand such pride, however, and Amelia hoped to make a friend of the quiet young woman. She desperately needed an ally in this wilderness. Using cold water and a coarse rag, Amelia scrubbed. Her hands were shockingly reddened by the time Mary signaled her approval. But the table was almost as clean as if it were newly made, which gave Amelia a certain sense of satisfaction. There was also a great feeling of relief when Amelia discovered the evening meal had been taken from the plantation. The booty included a bottle of excellent wine. At least she did not have to worry the food was tainted. The wine, however, was uncalled for and branded Quinn Hallet a thief as well as a spy. Amelia was not surprised. That he was able to select the finest wine from her father’s cellar, she attributed to chance. Her list of Quinn’s sins grew moment by moment, and she would not be forgiving him for any of them. Nell prattled throughout the meal. “It has been the longest time since I have had an adventure. Except

for crossing the Atlantic and I felt ghastly ill the entire time,” she lamented. “Life in North America has proved terribly boring and lonely until now.” Amelia rolled her eyes. Throughout the meal she only nibbled at the cold roast quail and corn-bread. She had no appetite and no wish to make conversation. Her mind churned as she tried to recall if Quinn carried a musket. She could not remember seeing a weapon, but there must be one - and she intended to make it hers. Several times during the meal Amelia raised her eyes to find herself under close scrutiny. Her compelling captor’s keen gaze bored into her as surely as if he were reading her thoughts. She chided herself for being silly, for he said nothing to her. His mouth twisted into a soft, lopsided grin when their glances met. His enigmatic smile caused Amelia’s pulse to race with fear and something else she could not name. The uncomfortable hour ended when Quinn rose, stretching his long, powerful arms above his head. “We have a tiresome journey tomorrow, we’d best be getting to bed.”

The pale downy hairs on Amelia’s arms stood on end. “I am not the least bit sleepy.” “Well, I am,” Nell said. “But I will require my laudanum first.” Quinn glanced at Nell with a questioning frown before announcing the sleeping arrangements. “Mary, you will take one chamber and Granny Nell and Queenie will share the other. I’ll be on watch.” Queenie! He could mean no one else than Amelia. She was hard-pressed not to express her outrage at this new insult, but she was so thankful the Patriot did not expect her to sleep beside him that she bit her tongue. Throughout the long, tiring day she had struggled to suppress the dread that tonight the rebel would demand his rights as her husband. She rubbed the goose bumps that sprung up at the memory of Quinn’s kiss. The still-vivid recollection kindled troubling sensations within her, a confusing mixture of warmth and anguish. His kiss had been quite unlike Sir Basil’s. Amelia had received her first kiss on the veranda just last week. Basil had bestowed a mild peck on the cheek that evoked no discomfort. Her fiancé’s thin, dry lips

had touched her in a brotherly fashion, and Amelia rather thought that was the way it should be, Sir Basil being correct in all matters. With a toss of her head she attempted to banish her disturbing thoughts. She could not expect a wild Patriot like Quinn to behave like a gentleman. He could force himself upon her at any time and she would be powerless against him. A knot pulled tightly in the center of her stomach. Amelia had already learned she was no match for his strength. Quinn’s gaze swept over her, lingering on the rise of her breasts. His eyes glittered seductively as they met hers. The corners of his mouth twitched as he parted his lips and gave her a secret, enigmatic smile. “We will not be together tonight, Amelia. Duty calls. I hope you are not greatly disappointed.” Her cheeks burned, and the flame that seared them leaped from an unfamiliar region deep within her core. Swallowing hard she replied coolly. “You have neither the ability to disappoint me or delight me, Quinn Hallet.” He threw his head back and laughed, which was not the reaction she wished to elicit.

Trembling and flustered, Amelia snatched her grandmother’s hand and guided her to the bedroom door. “It is time for us to say goodnight.” It was time to plot their escape out from under the watchfulness of the dark-haired scoundrel and his silent accomplice. “Goodnight, sweet thing,” Quinn called after her. “Sweet dreams.” Sending a scornful glare in his direction, Amelia raised her chin and slammed the door. Even though the bed was hard and narrow, with the aid of her laudanum, Nell fell quickly to sleep, leaving Amelia to stare into the darkness. Sleep proved impossible as she listened to the menacing sounds of nocturnal beasts and the eerie night noises of the rustic dwelling. Like an unwelcome apparition, the dark, mesmerizing face of the rebel danced before her, his extraordinary green eyes alight with amusement. A slow heat spread through her body. What was the devil doing to her? **** Lizards rustled in the undergrowth surrounding

the cabin. Every now and then, coyotes called in the distance. Hooting owls and high-pitched crickets chimed in concert. Quinn sat on guard leaning against a porch post. He held his old musket across his lap. He watched the moon rise through a thin layer of clouds. The same moon that shone over his Annapolis home, he thought with a twinge of homesickness. He had no love for this wilderness, a no-man’s-land on the border of Georgia and East Florida. Raiders from each colony prowled this territory, driving off cattle, stealing slaves, and threatening travelers. But the danger Amelia Farnthorpe posed was just as great. No meek young woman was she. She possessed the spirit of a well-bred filly; enough pluck for ten women. He admired her courage ... grudgingly. But her imprudent scheming made his task more difficult. Compounding the situation, she was a spoiled wench, bent on driving him to distraction. Of all things, he must remain aloof from her beauty and the body that sorely tempted him. If he didn’t properly subdue Amelia before they reached

Saint Augustine, he and Mary would be in constant jeopardy. Quinn wrestled with his problem in the moonlight. How to control his hostage? Pretending to woo her might prove dangerous and fruitless. Holding her by fear held little appeal. In Maryland his success with the ladies was legendary, but they were more than willing to be seduced and had no political pretensions. Amelia, however, was a loyal daughter of the mother country. Quinn sighed. Amelia, his comely, blue-eyed harridan bride. What would he do with her? He could think of nothing he’d done to deserve being saddled with such a woman. “It’s going to be a long, difficult journey,” he told the owl that blinked on the beam above him. **** It was close to dawn when Amelia suddenly bolted upright in the bed. At last she’d hit upon an idea, but the sun was nearly up and she must make haste. The small dagger Amelia had concealed in her grandmother’s jotting bag while packing was

useless against a man of Quinn’s size. But it would serve her well for the task she had in mind. Quietly, she slid from the bed. She could be as cunning as her captors. In the morning she would present herself as the perfect prisoner, malleable and resigned to her fate. Amelia was still shredding her chemise when Nell woke. The older woman eyed her with alarm. “Am I still dreaming, or have you taken leave of your senses, dear?” “Keep your voice down, Grandmother.” “What are you doing?” she whispered. Amelia dared not explain. “I—I am mending.” “Mending?” Nell rubbed her eyes and looked again. “I do believe I require a drop of laudanum.” Amelia cared not to argue over the matter and fetched the tranquilizing potion. If all went according to her plan, she expected the day would hold a bit of excitement and a drop of laudanum might prove beneficial to her grandmother. A small, satisfied smile lit Amelia’s face. By nightfall she and her grandmother would be free. ****

Breakfast was a poor affair of cornbread and coffee prepared by Quinn. The liquid was so thick and black that Amelia could barely swallow it, and when she did her tongue curled to the back of her throat in protest. “I am accustomed to drinking tea and cocoa but this coffee has an ... interesting flavor. Perhaps you will show me how you manage it sometime.” Quinn raised a suspicious eyebrow, and then he gave her a crooked, knowing smile. “It appears I have a good deal to show you.” Amelia blanched and quickly averted her eyes. “Quite.” “Making coffee is not what I do best ... as you will soon discover.” The implicit promise in his husky tone brought a new flood of warmth rushing from Amelia’s head to her toes. She could not fathom the strange reaction of her body to Quinn’s crude teasing. It was truly distressing. She studied the rim of her cup as she continued, determined not to be deterred by the devil’s innuendos. “I understand rebels do not drink tea.”

“No, we don’t,” he answered. “For good reason. First there was the tax protest in Boston, and then last year we were forced to burn the Peggy Stewart when she sailed into Annapolis Harbor carrying two thousand pounds of tea. We had no choice for Stewart had paid duty to the crown.” “We?” “I am a member of the Annapolis Committee of Correspondence. It was Stewart’s daughter, Peggy, who insisted the brig be sailed to Windmill Point. With full sails set, the ship and its cargo of tea were fired on.” Quinn slammed the table with his fist and stood up. “These hostilities are turning daughters against their own fathers?” Amelia asked, unable to believe such behavior. “And friends and neighbors against one another. Do you understand now why tea leaves a bad taste in our mouths?” Nothing but ashes could leave a worse taste than his coffee, Amelia thought, but she said, “It is unfortunate to have such precious relationships destroyed by something as minor as taxes.”

“Minor?” He shook his head, regarding her if she were a hopeless child. “No, these taxes are not minor, but a concept impossible for you to understand, I expect.” Resisting the impulse to rebuke Quinn for his insolence, Amelia swallowed her pride and ignored his barb. It was time to implement her plan. She only hoped she looked sufficiently peaked as she slipped into the role she’d been rehearsing since dawn. “I hope we have not far to travel today. I am feeling quite unwell.” At that, Nell’s head came up from her inspection of the mysterious, bitter liquid in her cup. “Oh, my dear, are you ill?” Amelia nodded and lowered her head. “What’s wrong with you?” Quinn asked skeptically. With a shrug and a sigh she simply shook her head. “Hid the chiggers get you?” “Chiggers?” She had no idea what a chigger could be. “Never mind.” Raking a hand through his hair, he paced the room impatiently. “Where do you feel ill?”

At this, Amelia heaved an extremely heavy sigh. “I cannot say to you, sir ... although I could whisper it to Mary.” Quinn spun on his heel with a groan. Men had no taste for female problems. “Dear, take just a drop of my laudanum,” Nell advised. “It cures almost anything that ails you.” “Not this, Grandmother. I am sure of it.” For good measure, Amelia clutched her midriff and doubled over with a loud moan. Quiet Mary interceded. “Quinn, let Amelia ride in the back of the wagon so that we may start.” He eyed Amelia suspiciously. It was clear he wanted his hostage bride where he could keep an eye on her at all times. Amelia groaned louder. “All right!” he barked. With her head practically in her lap, Amelia allowed herself a small, unseen smile of triumph. After that they moved quickly - all except for Amelia, who clutched her stomach and moved at a snail’s pace as Mary helped her to the wagon. Once there, she shrugged helplessly. “I do not think that I

can climb up.” With one brusque, ungracious movement, Quinn lifted her into his arms and deposited her none too gently in the back of the wagon. They were under way in moments. Purely for effect, Amelia moaned from time to time. Nell didn’t appear to notice. When the wagon reached the main road, Amelia threw the first piece of her shredded petticoat from the back. She smiled feeling confident someone would notice her chemise trail and come to their rescue. Which wasn’t exactly what happened.

Chapter 3 The clamor of galloping horses on the trail behind them gave warning they were being followed. Before Amelia had time to celebrate the success of her plan, the wagon was enveloped in a cloud of choking dust. Quinn brought the mules to a halt as they were surrounded by half a dozen glowering, grizzly men. “Don’t breathe a word,” he cautioned Amelia

under his breath, “or your grandmother will pay.” Her body reacted with a violent shudder. The men surrounding the wagon did not look like the sort of rescue party she had envisioned. In England, even the bandits were a better breed than these revolutionaries. The sinister-looking band of bearded men brandished a variety of ugly weapons. The men were darkened and leathered by the elements; their clothes were worn and dirty. It soon became evident they hadn’t bathed in many weeks. Amelia wrinkled her nose and squirmed uneasily as leering eyes fastened upon her as if she were a dish of sweet blancmange. “What’s yer name?” demanded the wiry leader. His black eyes darted between the women and Quinn. Amelia noted with some aspersion that his wooly beard was imbedded with the crumbs of his last meal. Still, she held out hope. Quinn calmly loosened the reins. His eyes narrowed, gleaming like shards of emerald glass as he coldly scrutinized the marauder. “Hallet. What’s yours?” Quinn’s insolence would get them all killed. She

could see clearly now that these men were just as her father described Americans; a group of violent misfits and outcasts of decent society and ignorant rabble-rousers of the worst order. Hope gave way to fear. “They call me Gator. And this is our land -rebel land. State yer business, Hallet.” “I’m traveling to Saint Augustine to free my brother. He was captured by the Loyalists in a raid back a few months ago.” “He one of us?” “Jon owns a small farm on the Georgia side.” Although she kept her eyes averted from the hungry stares of the barbarous gang, Amelia listened attentively. Quinn had swiftly fabricated the story about his brother. He possessed a quick mind, which she would do well to remember. “What’s yer brother’s name again?” Amelia peered up at the man Quinn conversed with in deep, clipped sentences. The leader of the pack leaned back in his saddle, his eyes squinting into the sun. His skin appeared as rough and dark as the bark of a dead tree. His wiry body arced like a slice of steel in his saddle.

“Jon Hallet.” “Seems I heard that name,” the grimey misfit said after a lengthy consideration, during which no one moved. “Reckon yer can pass. Any trouble ahead jest mention my name to the Seminoles and any others.” “Where did you pick up our trail?” Quinn asked. The breath caught in Amelia’s throat and formed a tight, choking knot. She froze and prayed for a miracle. The rebel leader answered with a jerk of his head. “We’ve been followin’ these here scraps of cloth.” The vulgar man proceeded to hand over a tattered piece of Amelia’s chemise for Quinn’s inspection. She felt the blood rush to her face. Her heart thudded against her chest. It pounded so hard she was certain everyone could hear her fear. She prepared to swoon. “Odd.” Quinn stared at the scrap of cotton and lace as if it were an extremely fascinating object. Only the slightest constriction of the muscles in his jaw betrayed his emotion.

Her fate was sealed. She could either be shot now by the raiders or later by Quinn. All eyes were on Quinn as he crushed the evidence of Amelia’s deception in his fist. He dropped it to the floor of the wagon as if it were a dead insect. “We must be on our way, gentlemen.” “We’ll escort yer a piece,” the gang leader offered, his beady eyes glinting on Amelia. “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. Glad to see you’re on the lookout though.” “Don’t want any of those bloody Loyalists to get away.” The raider sneered. “We tar and feather ‘em where I come from.” Amelia shuddered. She would rather take her punishment from Quinn. At least he had not threatened her with tar and feathers. Not yet. “Do we have visitors?” Nell inquired from the back of the wagon, finally roused from her deep laudanum sleep. “Shhh,” Amelia warned with a quick glance over her shoulder. “We’re posing as Loyalists, but if we happen

along the real thing, I’ll take care of them for you,” Quinn promised Gator. And then, with a terse nod, he slapped the reins and started the mules in motion. They drove for several miles in grim silence after Quinn hauled Amelia onto the seat beside him. Mary’s stern sidelong glances spoke more eloquently of her anger than words would have. Quinn leaned forward as if he were driving alone, a stoic profile etched in slate. His tight-lipped silence was far more intimidating than if he’d raged at Amelia. No longer did his hard thigh brush against her. His elbows did not pin Amelia’s arms to her side. Their bodies were not jostled together with every rut in the road. Amelia chewed on her lip anxiously. She could only imagine what the devil beside her planned. Mary cut through the awful silence at last. Her voice quivered with outrage as she turned on Amelia. “You very nearly cost us our lives with your foolishness. I hope you have learned your lesson.” “I did not expect revolutionaries to pick up the trail.”

“Those men were not revolutionaries. They were raiders who are little more than outlaws,” Mary informed her, her tone tight with contained fury. “This is untamed territory, inhabited only by Indians, outlaws, and raiders.” “I…I did not know,” Amelia rasped. Chastened, she glanced nervously at Quinn. A rivulet of sweat zigzagged down his jaw. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead and his implacable expression gave no sign that he listened. “Now you know. Make no mistake. It matters not to bandits or Indians whether you are a Patriot or a Loyalist,” Mary said. Her tone softened as she added, “We must survive together. Until we reach civilization again, we must put aside our political differences.” “I understand. I, I shall forget I am a Loyalist,” Amelia promised. “Until we reach Saint Augustine.” “This is a life or death journey. We must save Jon.” “Jon? Is the story true then?” “Yes, and just think if it were your brother being held in some horrid prison. Quinn is not a bad man.” “Don’t disabuse Amelia of what she knows is

true,” Quinn spit out. With a toss of her head, Amelia raised her chin and fixed her gaze on the endless trail ahead. Slowly, the wagon rumbled south. The sun beat down in agonizing intensity; the mules kicked up suffocating billows of dust. Perfumed by scrub pine and wildflowers, the air grew heavy. Amelia felt as if she were suffocating, caught up in a curtain of humidity that would not part. Quinn remained taciturn. Amelia wrung her hands in her lap, anticipating all sorts of dire punishments that might await her. The rebel Patriot’s continued silence convinced her he was devising new and horrible methods of torture. Amelia consoled herself with the belief Quinn needed her for his charade. He could not risk hurting his hostage bride. She resolved to stand proudly in the face of the enemy. She only wished it were not such a handsome face. Her bravery promptly deserted her when Quinn pulled the wagon to a halt. “Oh, lovely! A rest,” Nell cried out cheerily from the back. “Mary, you stay with Granny Nell,” Quinn ordered,

jumping from the wagon. “Amelia and I will take a walk.” Amelia’s eyes were drawn to his large hands as Quinn held out his arms. It would take but one of those enormous appendages to wrap neatly around her neck. Strangulation seemed a poor way to die. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, trickled down her spine and between the hollow of her breasts. “I—I think I would just as soon stay here. Thank you.” “You have no choice.” Quinn’s eyes flashed with dark fury. Amelia swallowed hard and nodded. Her mouth was so dry with fear that her lips felt fixed together. Quinn’s hands went around her waist like a vise, squeezing out what breath she had left. He swung her unceremoniously to the ground. Before she gained her balance, he grabbed her by the hand and dragged her off into the brush. “I will be of no use to you dead,” she reminded him as she stumbled, saved from falling on her face by his rough, impatient jerk on her arm. The limbs and bushes that he cleared from his

path with one forceful arm slapped back on Amelia. “Ouch!” she cried as a thorn cut her cheek. Quinn did not look back. “Please, please slow down,” Amelia begged as she gingerly touched a finger to her face and felt blood. “You are hurting me!” The clasp of his hand tightened, cutting off her circulation. Having no mercy, he only increased his pace and Amelia’s fear dissolved into fury. Quinn’s despicable, roughshod manner was beyond bounds. Her chemise trail had been an innocent mistake - the act of a desperate woman. The underbrush began to thin, and the smell of salt permeated the air. The angry Patriot’s long strides slowed. Amelia panted for breath, still trying to keep up with him and to discern the strange sloshing sound which grew louder with every step. Finally they reached a ridge of pines. Quinn stopped abruptly and pulled Amelia to his side. Spread out before them were rolling sand dunes, tall clumps of sea grass, and the ocean. Did he plan to drown her? “I cannot swim,” she said, gasping for breath. “You are not going to be fish food. Not yet,

anyway,” he growled under his breath. His features were so dark and rigid with rage that Amelia stepped back instinctively. But she wasn’t out of reach and he seized her harshly by the shoulders. Deepened by anger, his piercing eyes locked on hers. His expression hardened to a fierce, glowering sculpture of stone. After a long moment of silence, he suddenly pushed her away. Dazed, Amelia fell against a tree trunk. Immobilized, with her heart pounding and her pulse racing with terror, she watched warily as he turned his back on her. Whatever Quinn had been about to do, he’d apparently changed his mind. Captive and captor stood frozen in their separate fears. Beyond the dunes and sea grass lay a stretch of pristine white sand that disappeared into the clear aquamarine water of the southern Atlantic sea. The tropical tide ebbed and flowed in a tranquil rhythm as Quinn struggled for self-control. “I would not have ... would not have left that trail if I had known what kind of men were going to find us. I am sorry,” Amelia offered. “You’re what?” he roared, wheeling back to

confront her. “I ... I am sorry,” Amelia repeated in a wavering voice. “You’re sorry! You’re impossibly naive, foolish, and impetuous! You put us all in danger.” “I will not be so foolish again,” she promised in a soft, remorseful voice. Quinn loomed over her like a massive volcano about to erupt. He clenched his fists to his sides. “Do you think an apology can save you? Is that what you have done all your life? Say that you are sorry and wait to be forgiven?” he raged. “I, I beg of you,” she stammered in a voice that sounded several octaves higher than normal. “Do not do anything that you will regret.” An improbable stab of pain pierced Quinn’s heart. Framed by silken curls in total disarray, Amelia’s pale, upturned face appealed to him. She appeared waiflike and vulnerable. Her sky-blue eyes were wide with fright. He silently cursed the gods of war who tested and tormented him with an enemy who looked like a gift from heaven. “If you had been spanked a time or two as a child perhaps you would have learned to think before

acting,” he snapped impatiently. “You would not be so impulsive, so spoiled.” Amelia regarded him steadfastly, her eyes an accusing blue mist that wrenched his heart. For the moment Quinn hated himself for haranguing the proud young woman who stood disheveled, but unbroken, before him. “Who spoiled me?” she asked with an impervious toss of her head. “Certainly it was not my father who lived here in North America? Was it my grandmother? Nell stayed in London, while I resided at her country estate in Bath. Could it have been the housekeeper who spoiled me? Perhaps the gardener?” Quinn shook his head. “I don’t--” “Perhaps it was Sophie who spoiled me,” she interrupted. “Who is Sophie?” “My cat. The stable boy was about to drown her when I happened along. She was a poor mouser he said. Poor, plain Sophie was afraid of mice.” “A cat afraid of mice?” “She couldn’t be blamed,” Amelia answered

defensively. “Mice are not to my liking either. Sophie proved to be good and loyal company for me.” The tiniest hint of a grin played at the corners of her mouth. “And Grandmother never knew I hid her in my chambers.” “Was Sophie your only companion?” Amelia replied without answering his question directly. “She was loving and sweet. When I was forced to leave her behind, my heart... I was quite ...” Noting with an unbidden stab of sympathy that Amelia’s eyes welled with tears, Quinn finished the sentence for her. “Heartbroken?” “Yes.” She lowered her head. “Though I made certain she had a good new home, I do miss my Sophie.” For a moment neither spoke. Amelia gathered her composure as Quinn reflected on what sort of life she must have lived before coming to North America. “You must think me doubly foolish now,” she ventured, obviously embarrassed by her revealing lapse. “No. Not at all.” Quinn suppressed an urge to place a comforting arm around her shoulder.

“Perhaps someday you will come across another strange feline to befriend.” Amelia shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps.” “In the meantime, do not do anything foolish again,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended. “Now it’s time to go back to the others.” “Whatever you say.” With a toss of her head, she spun on her heel and marched in the direction of the wagon. Quinn followed closely to make sure she didn’t lose her way. Back at the wagon he announced, “We might as well camp here for the night. We have lost precious time as it is.” Nell looked about in confusion. “Where is the inn?” Mary grinned. “Tonight the stars will be our roof and the pine needles our floor. I am sure you will like it,” she added kindly. “I think what I would like is a drop or two of laudanum.” “Not now, Granny Nell, we have work to do first.” Quinn gave the old woman a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Nell clucked with some asperity before turning to Amelia. “Dear, will you kindly fetch my laudanum?” Amelia shot Quinn a questioning glance before she answered the old woman. “Not now, Grandmother,” she said soothingly. “In a little while.” The horses and mules were walked to the ocean campsite and the wagon was hidden in the brush. In just over an hour they had settled for the night. The spot on the beach was both beautiful and practical. Amelia thought it was the loveliest place she had ever seen outside of England. “Are we in Florida?” “Yes, but there’s no fresh water at this site,” Quinn reported as he built a fire of twigs and pine cones to keep the wild animals at bay. “We’ll drink some of what we brought with us and wash off in the ocean before dark.” Amelia cast a skeptical glance at the whitecapped Atlantic. The pleasure of a saltwater bath escaped her. She changed her mind as she watched Quinn and Mary frolic in the ocean. They played like children in the sunset, diving under the indigo waves. With broad, strong strokes Quinn began to race and swiftly outdistanced his companion.

“Is it time for my laudanum now?” Nell fretted. “After our meal, Grandmother,” Amelia murmured, caught up in the grace of the rebel’s contest. She sat leaning against the trunk of a gnarled sea grape tree. Mary and Quinn were obviously fond of one another and willing to risk their lives for his brother Jon. She wondered fleetingly if the quiet woman splashing about in the water with him was Quinn’s mistress. Her musings were tinged with wistful envy as Amelia watched the pair bob and weave in the ocean. She could not imagine playing with Sir Basil in such a way. Growing up alone she had missed having companions and siblings for play. Her mother had died in childbirth and her father had never remarried. After a while Amelia gave in to the urge to submerge herself and wash the day’s perspiration away. She removed her shoes and slowly walked to the water’s edge. As the warm water lapped over her feet, she wiggled her toes with pleasure. Although she wasn’t afraid of the water, how to

keep oneself afloat had not been among the lessons offered by her tutors. Amelia was about to venture further when she looked up to see Quinn coming toward her. Waistdeep, the water surged and parted before his warrior physique. His midnight-black hair slicked back behind his ears and glistening drops of water ran down his broad striking face. Amelia blushed before his wide, magnificent chest and its mat of dark curls. A tapering trail of the same dark hair ran down his flat, muscled stomach and disappeared beneath his soaking breeches. Quinn’s arms were thickly corded, the muscles at his biceps gave notice of his strength. In the dusk, her captor emerged from the water looking very much like one of the mythical gods she had so often read about. One corner of his mouth turned up in a strangely disconcerting crooked smile as he strode toward her, a dark figure masculine and ... majestic. His shining gaze locked on hers. Amelia lowered her eyes as again the troublesome heat that had frequently plagued her since being Quinn’s hostage flooded her body. As he sauntered toward her, she could see a

twinkle of amusement dance in the depths of his eyes. “I’ll keep Granny Nell company. It’s a shame you no longer have a chemise. I imagine it’s difficult to take a saltwater bath in a dress.” Amelia lifted her chin, picked up the skirts of her stained and tattered dress, and glided into the water like a princess on parade. The heathen’s smile could melt polar caps. He posed more danger to her than this uncharted wilderness and the wide, white-capped ocean. **** They made their beds with blankets on the beach after dark. If she were not so worried about what sort of wild beasts prowled about in the brush behind them, Amelia might have enjoyed the beauty of the night. From the thickets came the shrill chirping of crickets and cicadas. A nearly full moon rose slowly overhead, casting its shimmering reflection over the water. Here in the wilderness the stars, twinkling like candlelight, seemed close enough to touch. Quinn had added pinecones to the small fire which gave out a fragrant, tangy aroma. If Amelia could be assured that no Indians lurked

in the brush and snakes did not slither in the sand, she might have been able to sleep. She counted sheep and when that failed, she turned over on her back and counted the stars. After a time, braced on her elbows, she propped herself up and surveyed the campsite. Mary and Nell slept peacefully. Quinn sat on a log facing the brush with his back to the fire. Great rolling waves of the incoming tide slapped against the shore. The white sand glimmered in the moonlight. Deciding a walk on the beach would release her tension, Amelia quietly rose and made her way to the water’s edge. Before she let down her guard, she glimpsed over her shoulder several times to make sure Quinn was still on watch. She didn’t intend to go far, just far enough to escape from the rebel’s giant shadow and think in solitude. There must be a way to make an escape. She only needed to put her mind to it and concentrate. “Where do you think you’re going?” Startled, Amelia jumped and spun to face Quinn. She was prepared to defend herself against his

anger, but not the soft, seductive smile on his lips. Taken by surprise, she lashed out defensively. “I was not running away, if that is what you think.” His mouth twisted into a familiar lopsided smile. “No, I did not think so.” “I thought a walk on the beach would help me sleep.” “It might,” he agreed good-naturedly. “I will walk along with you.” “I would rather be alone,” Amelia protested curtly. She proceeded to reverse her direction. “I would not want any harm to come to you,” Quinn said, quickly sidling up to her. His rough-hewn features were softened and strangely enhanced beneath the moonlight. Without realizing it, Amelia held her breath. Beside him, she felt defenseless and very suddenly, all topsy-turvy. He smiled down at her. A flash of white teeth contrasted against his tanned skin. His eyes crinkled at the corners in a most disarming way. She looked away, successfully breaking the spell the heathen had so cunningly cast. He strolled the starlit beach beside her silently,

tensely. A pungent salt and seaweed breeze swirled about them; the crunch of shells sounded beneath their feet. And the gulf between them seemed as immense as the sea beside them. Amelia’s heart thumped a warning when Quinn stopped and turned her to him. Immobilized by his steady, serious gaze she felt her knees weaken. Unaccountably, her legs were as shaky as hasty pudding. The black velvet curtain of the night cradled them as if they were alone in the universe, standing bewitched by moonbeams, starlight, and the roaring symphony of the surf. It wasn’t the compelling rebel Patriot, but a conspiracy of the elements which gave Amelia the heady feeling of weightlessness. She could fly, she could soar to the stars. But she could not move when Quinn lowered his head and brushed her lips with sweet fire. A warm, delicious shudder swept through her, followed by a cold flash of fear which served to awaken Amelia from her dreamlike state. She spun away from her husband, her enemy, as if he had wounded her. Her fear was confusing but as real as

the fear she felt for the wilderness, the Indians, and the wild animals that lurked along the trail. “I thought you had to watch for panthers and, and other wild things,” she blurted. “I think you should go back to the others.” When he turned her back to face him Amelia could see the hazy glow of desire in Quinn’s eyes and understood it no more than the mysterious feelings he aroused within her. One thing was clear, she could not linger with him. He stood so close that with each breath she inhaled his masculinity. The lusty scent of leather and spice proved more intoxicating than the finest spirits. Light-headed and muddled, Amelia lowered her eyes and for the first time noticed the musket snapped over his shoulder. A few moments ago she had almost forgotten who and what Quinn represented. She recovered with a start, angry with herself for the unforgivable lapse. “I am on watch. I never forget the task at hand. What I do, you may be sure I do carefully,” he told her in a soft deliberate tone. “I do not wish to walk anymore,” Amelia declared,

moving quickly in the direction of the campsite. “Wait,” Quinn seized her arm and spun her back to face him. “I have something for you.” Amelia jerked her arm from his grip. “You have given me quite enough, thank you.” His dark gaze met and held hers. “You will need this.” “I do not need anything more from you, Quinn Hallet. You have already given me too much. You have given me a husband I loathe and do not want. You have given me aching hours on a broken-down wagon in the middle of the wilderness. You have given me food unfit to eat. And now you have given me a bed in the sand.” On a roaring wave of foam, the surf crashed on the shore just a few feet away from where she stood, spraying both Amelia and Quinn with a fine salty mist. “What else could you possibly give me?” she demanded. “This ring.” She looked down into his open palm. He held a wedding band.

Chapter 4 Quinn had finally found a way to quiet his impertinent prisoner. “Every bride must have a ring.” Amelia contemplated the narrow gold band gleaming in the moonlight as if it were a noose for her neck. Quickly and quietly Quinn slipped the ring on her finger. “It fits ... almost as if you were meant to wear it.” She possessed long elegant fingers. Her graceful hands were unblemished by woman’s work. That was about to change. Amelia Farnthorpe could bid farewell to her vanity and life as she had known it. She raised her chin and lifted wide, luminous eyes to his. Her tone was soft but firm. “I cannot wear the ring of a rebel traitor.” Quinn nodded. He’d come to expect protest and defiance from her at every turn. “But you will wear it, Queenie. It’s a posy ring, modest to be sure, but my mother liked it well enough.” Amelia’s eyes clouded. “This was your mother’s

ring?” “Yes.” When the mission ended, he intended to retrieve the simple band. “I know it’s not the kind of ring you expected to wear when you married. There are no diamonds or rubies. But it …it looks well enough on your finger.” “Yon mistake the matter. It is not the lack of diamonds or rubies that disturbs me. ’Tis a mockery.” Pulling her hand from his, Amelia tugged at the band encircling her finger. “I cannot wear it knowing --” Grabbing her wrist impatiently, Quinn held her hand between them. “You will wear this ring, Amelia, so that there will be no questions.” The low, hard edge of his voice warned against further argument. “Appearances are everything, you know.” “We can say I lost my wedding band on the journey and we intend to replace it --” “We have enough lies to remember as it is,” he growled. “You will swallow your pride and wear my ring!” Amelia squirmed ineffectively, struggling to free her wrist from his painful grasp, but Quinn tightened his hold.

“Let go of me!” she squealed. He knew a dozen women who would gladly wear his ring. But this spoiled Loyalist had deemed it beneath her. In truth he had to admit that none of the women in his past could equal Amelia’s appeal. Quinn could not decide what attracted him most, her creamy alabaster skin, golden curls, or tall slender figure. He imagined that her legs must go on forever. The desire to lift her skirt and confirm his suspicions here on the dark, deserted beach suddenly became quite urgent. Drawing a deep steadying breath, Quinn reminded himself once again that Amelia was a Loyalist and a pawn in his game. She could be nothing more to him than the means to accomplish a dangerous mission. Quinn silently blasted the orders that had saddled him with the obstinate beauty. “Let go of me,” she cried again, pummeling his chest with her free hand. “Damn it! You are my wife.” Quinn dropped his musket and caught Amelia up by her shoulders, lifting her to where her now-frightened eyes were level with his. Her parted lips were dangerously

close. He struggled against the sweet tempting rose scent of her and the danger in stealing yet another kiss. “Put me down this minute.” “You will behave or be left on the beach. You will wear my ring day and night to remind you that you are wed and that your loyalties are now to your devoted husband. Do I make myself clear?” “Very.” “You will never take this ring off. I am the only one who can remove it,” he said in a slow, deliberate tone. “Do you understand?” Her eyes still wide with alarm, Amelia nodded her head emphatically. Quinn set her down. No woman had ever regarded him with such horror. She looked like a small doe trapped by a wild boar. Averting his eyes, he bent to retrieve his musket. Amelia’s spoiled ways were driving him wild. And he well knew that he couldn’t afford to lose control of his emotions. The success of this mission depended on him. The lives of Mary and Jon and hundreds of others were in his hands. Amelia hadn’t moved. She watched warily as

Quinn drew himself up to his full height. His voice cut through the warm night with the coldness of a steel blade. “We leave at dawn. You will be the best, most docile wife a man could have or your grandmother will be sent north to become an official prisoner of war.” “Only a cruel, black-hearted Patriot would consider making her a prisoner of war. You are a nasty, arrogant bully, Quinn Hallet,” she spat under her breath. “And only a stubborn, simple minded woman would continue to defy me!” he shot back between his teeth, enraged that she still refused to yield to his threats. Where was the demure, submissive bride he’d been promised? Had the intelligence report been wrong about her education? “Do you have feathers where brains should be?” Her chin rose, and her lips pressed together in silent defiance. “Do you not comprehend the danger that lies ahead for all of us?” Quinn demanded. “Are you so slow-witted that it is beyond your understanding?” The surf pounded to the shore, carried on a rising

tide. The moon shifted higher in the sky. Amelia no longer listened to Quinn’s moonlight harangue. She knew what she must do now. It was plain he suspected her continued defiance to be the sign of an empty head. She fumed inwardly at his arrogance, but such a ruse might serve her well. From now on, she would appear as dull as Dorothy Dormouse. Quinn feared her lack of understanding; she feared his brawn. But how could he blame or punish her for having no brain? As Amelia formulated her plan the only problem she could foresee was convincing Quinn of her woeful lack of intellect. Was it too late to fool him? She doubted it. From what she had observed, most men were only too willing to believe a woman had no sense. “Well?” Quinn waited impatiently for the answer to a question Amelia had not heard. She smiled. “Have you comprehended a word I’ve spoken?” he stormed, clearly frustrated. “Yes.” His eyes narrowed, studying hers as if seeking a reassuring sign that understanding lay somewhere

behind her vacant blue gaze. At least she hoped she regarded him with a vacant stare. Amelia was no actress, although she was receiving a good deal of practice in the art. She yawned. Quinn sighed. Taking her by the arm, he hurriedly steered Amelia back to the campsite. As she lay down on her blanket, beneath the stars, she stole another furtive glance at the ring on her finger. What surely once was worn as a symbol of love, now signified her enslavement to a man she cared nothing about, a man who cared nothing for her. How could she wear this ring? Wife! He’d said that ugly word aloud again. Amelia would rather be anything but Quinn Hallet’s wife. She was certain there wasn’t a woman, Patriot or Loyalist, who could love this domineering tyrant. Amelia closed her eyes but the vision of her husband’s massive, intimidating form loomed above her like an impenetrable, dark mountain. **** For the next two days Quinn pressed on

relentlessly. From sunup to dusk the wagon rumbled down the King’s Road. The weary group barely exchanged civilities as the weather grew warmer and the humidity increased. Amelia knew it could not be hotter in Hades than it was on this rigorous southern trail. Unseemly perspiration oozed from her every pore and her bones ached from being bounced about. The road could hardly be called so, and the wagon was a miserable, crude contraption. This entire expedition was beneath Amelia’s dignity. She was accustomed to fine carriages and the comforts afforded to her class. As they bumped along she seriously wondered if she would survive to reach Saint Augustine. Nell, with her regular doses of laudanum, seemed to fare better than anyone. Quinn drove the wagon, occasionally spelled by Mary so that he could sleep. When they stopped, he shot small game and fished for their meals. Each night he spent long, lonely hours on watch. Despite the raiders, alligators, and Indians that were a constant threat, he kept his little party safe and well-

fed. Although she kept her distance from him, the rebel’s strength and perseverance were indisputable. As the hot weary days wore on, Amelia felt a grudging respect for the man who proved to have more admirable characteristics than she at first suspected. As they traveled deeper into the East Florida territory, subtle changes in the scenery took place. High pines poked up through thickets of palms and scrub, giving the appearance of tall, shaggy daggers. Strands of cypress trees with their green, lace-like leaves grew more abundant. Delicate lavender orchids crept along the limbs of live oak and mahogany trees. Large bald eagles and smaller red-tailed hawks screeched across the sky while hulking black vultures perched on the tree branches watching the wagon’s passage. By midday the heat was stifling. Each brief stop was a blessing. On the fifth day, nearing the end of their journey, Quinn pulled to a stop beside a small stream, shaded by a canopy of majestic old oaks. Amelia knelt beside the stream cupping the cool, clear water in her hands. It mattered not the least that

her silk dress took on large stains as she splashed the refreshing stream water on her face and neck. “Feeling better now?” Amelia looked up to see Quinn towering above her. His sleek, black hair dripped with the cool stream water. He was really quite extraordinary-looking. She loathed herself for thinking it but under different circumstances, Amelia would consider him a most attractive man. Her heart fluttered as his lips turned up in a mysterious smile. Amelia rocked unsteadily on her knees. She told herself it was the unbearable heat that had unsettled her, not Quinn’s smile. Perhaps she suffered from sunstroke. She’d read accounts of people driven mad under the relentless sun. Her mind and heart had undoubtedly been afflicted in this manner, but she must find the strength to persevere. “You need not feign concern for me, Patriot,” she told him, sitting back on her heels. “My concern is real.” His eyes locked on hers. “I suggest that you begin to call me by name. Quinn. Unless ...” His voice trailed off and his mouth curved up into a wry, somehow beguiling smile. “... Unless

you would rather use a term of endearment as newlyweds are apt to do ... my love.” His eyes shimmered like cool green glass. Amelia’s heart lurched alarmingly. “I shall call you ... Quinn.” He nodded. “Well, do not tarry long here,” he advised, pointing to the opposite bank of the stream. “That alligator across the way may be hungry.” “Alligator!” Her eyes darted to where Quinn pointed. And then she saw what she’d assumed to be a log. Across the water, the long scaly beast lifted its broad, flat head to the sun. Dark slits served as the reptile’s eyes and large powerful jaws squared to a menacing snout. Caught between fascination and fear, Amelia studied the lizard’s squat brown body which gave way to a lethal-looking, three-foot tail tapering behind him. Looking for all of the world like an old-world monster, the alligator regarded her from across the stream. Neither woman nor beast moved, until unexpectedly, the ugly creature opened its jaws and let out an angry roar. Amelia jumped up so quickly she almost

knocked Quinn over. “I mistook him for a log!” “Do not make that mistake again. This one is sunning and we’ve disturbed him. He probably poses no danger, but be warned, alligators move quickly and are deadly. As we move south into the swamps and around the rivers we shall see more. Take care around water.” Her pride would not allow her to show fear. “I think I shall go back to the wagon now.” She heard Quinn chuckle as she walked briskly ahead of him back to where Nell and Mary waited with berries and bread. **** Miles passed with Amelia absorbed in the tropical wilderness, ever-watchful for alligators. Her vigilance became an obsession when it came time to cross the Saint Johns River, the final obstacle before arriving in Saint Augustine. Very nearly one full day was spent finding the safest point. The chosen spot was a much-used narrow bend in the river. A Seminole Indian guide and several men from a nearby plantation regularly helped travelers cross. A plan to build a bridge had

been forestalled until after the unrest in the thirteen colonies to the north had been settled. First, the contents of their wagon were floated across the river on a sturdy, but rough, raft. Quinn and the men swam with the mules to -get the frightened animals safely to the other side. The horses were next and then the wagon was rolled onto the raft and guided to the south side of the river. “Amelia, onto the raft,” Quinn ordered crisply. He was exhausted and anxious for the all-day ordeal to end. “There are alligators on the far bank. What if the raft should overturn?” “You have seen how reliable the raft is. There is no need to worry.” “Yes, there is a great need,” she argued. “If alligators are on the bank, they are in the river as well.” “Get on the raft,” he gritted between his teeth. “I will keep you safe from the gators.” “Perhaps there is a real boat at the plantation that the men could bring tomorrow --” Out of patience, Quinn brought a halt to Amelia’s procrastination by scooping her into his arms and

marching onto the raft. The guides pushed away as Quinn sat with the now pale and unnaturally quiet Loyalist. He held the trembling Amelia until they reached the other side. She felt soft and warm and curiously right in his arms, as if she belonged there. He smiled to himself when her trembling subsided and she relaxed against him. For a few brief, splendid moments in time, they had achieved accord. But the moment passed too swiftly and within hours they approached the gates of Saint Augustine. The success of Quinn’s mission depended on his hostages. One woman whose wits were dulled by a drug, the other naturally obtuse, which he believed to be the only explanation for Amelia’s continued stubborn defiance. It stood to reason that if she possessed an ounce of sense she would recognize her precarious position and give up her contentious behavior. Amelia’s delight and relief upon reaching Saint Augustine was readily evident and convincing to the soldiers who questioned and searched them. Her proper English accent and manners won Quinn’s small band expedient passage and simple

directions to the Saint George Inn. Charming two-story Spanish dwellings fronted the streets. Overflowing pots of crimson hibiscus blossoms sat on the balconies of the whitewashed homes providing a striking profusion of color. Clapboard shutters framed the open windows, and the sweet fragrance of orange blossoms wafted from the courtyards. Shops, taverns, and homes lined busy Saint George Street, where redcoat soldiers mingled with English merchants, Indian traders, and Minorcan laborers. Wearing native costumes and conversing in a variety of languages, the residents of Saint Augustine came together in a colorful mix of humanity. Amelia had difficulty suppressing her excitement. The bone weariness that had plagued her for the last two days miraculously lifted. At last they’d reached their destination and she could actively seek a means to escape. At last she was among Englishmen and women in an English held town! All would be well soon. Saint Augustine was a small city and it did not take them long to reach the inn, which was located

across the road from the British Army barracks. The handful of mid-afternoon patrons were all soldiers, a fact which was encouraging to Amelia, if worrisome to Quinn. He quietly ordered two rooms and for baths to be brought immediately. Amelia did not pause to consider Quinn’s request of only two rooms or that new sleeping arrangements were now in order. She was too happy to think beyond the present. Within the hour, she was blissfully submerged in a tub of warm water, enjoying the first privacy she’d experienced in days. Never before had Amelia considered a bath a luxury! Never before had she felt such a sense of accomplishment. She’d discovered an inner strength during the forced journey that she might never have known, a strength that she felt certain would support her in the days ahead. After scrubbing herself clean with rose-scented soap, Amelia washed her hair and lay back in the tub, contemplating her next move. She felt confident her energy would be restored after a good meal and a full night’s rest. Then she would take stock of the city and determine the best means of escape.

Certainly Quinn would relax his vigil when he was confident her chemise trail was the best her poor brain could conjure. And what could be better than being among her own people! The door to her chamber suddenly swung open, and Quinn, carrying a tray of food, filled its frame. “Are you going to be all day?” “Get out!” she wailed, slinking down into the water in an attempt to cover her nakedness. Quinn had contrived a bath as well, Amelia noted as she stared unblinking at her giant captor. His handsome face was clean shaven for the first time since their journey had begun. Much as she loathed to admit it, the dangerous rebel presented a fine figure in his fresh, fashionable clothing. Ruffles dressed the cuffs of his white linen shirt, tucked neatly into snug fawn buckskin breeches. He’d left his dark brown waistcoat unbuttoned and his ebony hair, still wet, was pulled back and secured by a thin strip of brown ribbon. Gone was the grizzled rebel, replaced by a riveting specimen of masculinity. His light emerald eyes flickered with amusement before drifting from Amelia’s open mouth to rest on

the slight swell of her breasts rising just above the water. “Sweet thing, have you forgotten, yet again, that I am your husband?” he drawled, kicking the door closed behind him with the heel of his foot. “We will be sharing a room from now on. A room and…well, other things.” “No.” Her denial barely a whisper. Embarrassed by his bold intrusion and numbed by the potent virility he exuded, she drew her knees up to obscure the heathen’s view of her breasts. “Oh, yes,” he contradicted her cheerfully. Amelia lifted her chin. “I wish to get out of the bath. Please leave the room while I do so,” she commanded in her most haughty tone. Would he see through her cool demeanor to her fear? Beneath the water her hands shook as she considered a frightening possibility. In addition to all else, might the Patriot Quinn be a pervert who would think nothing of accosting her in the middle of the afternoon, right here in the bathtub? “But I thought I would dry you,” he teased with a quirk of his lips. “It’s in my nature to be a helpful husband.”

“Thank you, but I can do it myself.” Quinn regarded his bride ruefully. He was sorely tempted to join her in the tub. Her delicate ivory body glimmered like smooth marble beneath the water. She’d drawn up her legs and crossed her arms protectively across her breasts, but Amelia’s slight shoulders glistened, beckoning enticingly. What a shame she had no brain! Keeping his distance in the past few days had done little to dampen his desire for her. If anything, he wanted her more. He wanted to make her his, make her his ally instead of his enemy. Quinn felt a warm, uncontrollable tightening in his loins. Masking his frustration, he smiled. “Someday you may appreciate what a good husband can do.” She batted her eyes. “What a husband can do?” she echoed vapidly. He couldn’t help but shake his head. Although at times she had shown signs of intelligence and had denied ignorance, it would be shameless to seduce a half-wit. In any event her behavior warranted closer scrutiny now that they were in enemy territory. If this were another ploy on her part, he would soon discover her scheme and make her pay in his own

way. Tearing his eyes from her lovely, shimmering body took more will than Quinn would have guessed he possessed. He turned away, crossing the room to place the tray he carried on the writing desk. “I have brought you something to eat, but you must hurry. I intend to explore the city before dark.” Amelia attempted to beg off. “I am much too weary to explore today.” “Sweet thing, did I ask if you cared to accompany me?” “No.” Her soft pink under lip protruded in a slight provocative pout. “Allow me to point out that that is the difference between an invitation and an order.” “You are insufferable,” she snapped churlishly. “Be ready within the hour. We are about to embark on a new life together Amelia. As a happy devoted husband and his besotted wife.” To his chagrin, Quinn found her dark scowl charming and more descriptive than a thousand words. He could not help the smile or the chuckle that

overcame him before he strode from the room, not daring a backward glance. But there was no forgetting he and Mary were in enemy territory. Their lives, as well as Jon’s, depended on how well he could control the English vixen. One question begged to be answered. Could anyone restrain the irrepressible Amelia Farnthorpe?

Chapter 5 Amelia’s gaze lingered on the door for several long minutes following Quinn’s departure. She feared the rebel would change his mind and return. There was no anticipating what the green-eyed devil would do. The dancing light in his eyes left no doubt he’d discovered something to his liking, ogling her while she sat in her bath. Quinn Hallet was the most ill-mannered, insensitive, unchivalrous man she had ever encountered. His every action only served to infuriate her further.

Chills tumbled down her spine. Amelia scrambled from the tub with one eye on the door. From her quickly ill-packed trunk, she pulled a lawn chemise with deep cuffs of delicate lace that fell over her forearms. Quinn had forbid her to wear mourning clothes. Under the circumstances, she expected her dear departed father would understand. The lavender print dress she selected appeared less wrinkled than the others and the shade suited her well. One of her simpler gowns, the bodice fit tightly over her corset, its low square neckline revealing a bit more cleavage than she would like, especially since Quinn apparently found that part of her anatomy so fascinating. Amelia was not accustomed to dressing without the help of a maid, but managed it well enough, though slowly. As she gulped the cheese and bread Quinn had brought, she took inventory of the small bedchamber. The Spartan space held a bed, a small stand with a water pitcher, a chest of drawers, and a writing desk. Located in the rear of the inn, the room was on the second story. A thin gauze curtain

covered the only window. Due to the elevation and also her fear of heights, Amelia realized to jump from the window to her freedom would be pure folly. With a sigh she moved to the desk. Examining the drawer she discovered good fortune had at long last smiled upon her. Inside were paper, quill, and ink! As soon as she could contrive to be alone, she would write a message to Sir Basil and send it by way of ship. Certainly she should be able to smuggle a small letter. By exercising a bit of cleverness she would soon be free! Perhaps Basil would rescue her, riding to her side like a chivalrous knight from medieval tales. Such a scenario greatly appealed to her romantic nature. Lost in new hope, she started at a gentle rap on the door. “Amelia, Quinn and I are waiting,” Mary called. Amelia pushed the writing material to the back of the drawer before smoothing her skirt and emerging from the chamber. Several doors led from the long, musty corridor. Filled to capacity, the inn was noisy with the conversation and laugher of its mostly male guests.

Quinn waited impatiently at the bottom of the stairs. “Ladies, my compliments. You both look refreshed and lovely.” “Thank you,” Mary smiled and returned the compliment. “You look very fine as well.” Amelia sighed. “If I appear refreshed, it is deceiving. I am so weary I may not be able to walk far, Flynn.” His eyes flashed to hers. “Quinn.” Good Lord! If she couldn’t even remember his name, how would they get through the next few weeks? This was worse than he thought. Perhaps when weary she grew more dense. “Quinn,” he repeated for good measure. “Quinn,” she echoed with a vague smile. “You see how tired I am? My head is fuzzy. Whenever I am exhausted my head reacts so.” Her explanation confirmed his fear of Amelia possessing a fuzzy head. But it offered some relief as well. In the future he would see that his wife in name only stayed well rested. For now he had no choice. “Buck up, sweet thing. We are going for a stroll to the marketplace. I wish to establish our reason for

being here immediately. We shall blend and mix and crow about how good it is to be with fellow subjects of the crown.” Quinn paused and rubbed his chin. “You do recall the reason we have come to Saint Augustine, Amelia?” “To fetch Jon.” “No!” “Oh.” Mary interceded gently. “Amelia, we are fleeing from the revolutionaries. We are going to live here until the rebels have been defeated and it is safe to return to our plantation,” she prompted. Her dark eyes reflected compassion for the slow wit that made constant reminders necessary. After Amelia haltingly nodded her understanding, Mary turned to Quinn. “Amelia and her grandmother are not used to difficult travel and long, hard hours without rest. We cannot expect too much of them.” Quinn grunted and arched a suspicious brow. “Thank you for understanding,” Amelia said, casting a grateful glance at Mary. Even if she was a Patriot, Mary possessed a heart and compassion. But then a disturbing thought occurred to her. She

spun around looking for Nell. “Where is my grandmother?” “She’s sleeping soundly in our room,” Mary assured her. “She did not even ask for a drop of laudanum.” “I see.” Soon they were on their way, with Amelia’s hand tucked firmly and possessively into Quinn’s arm, where he’d placed it. Mary strolled behind. They appeared the epitome of family propriety. Quinn walked the trio north along Matanzas Bay where gray gulls swooped down and ducked into the water. Fishermen swung their catches to the dock. Sloops and small schooners bobbed at anchor in the busy harbor. Amelia noted every sight and sound just as intensely as Quinn and Mary, but for vastly different purposes. “I am surprised to see so many ships at anchor,” Quinn mused, scanning the harbor. “It appears Saint Augustine prospers while the other colonies are in chaos.” “Would it not have been less difficult to sail here from Savannah?” Mary asked him. “Yes and much more dangerous. The Matanzas

shallows are perilous, requiring a pilot escort to enter the bay and only on orders from the governor. The risk of such procedures and a military escort did not appeal to me.” “I understand,” she replied, scanning the harbor. “I count eleven ships.” And soon one of them would surely be leaving for Savannah with a message for Sir Basil, Amelia told herself upon hearing her hasty calculation confirmed. “Yes, and we must quickly pass on all that we observe. Ships, troops, all of what we see and hear no matter how trivial we might think it to be must be conveyed to Annapolis,” Quinn said. “Scrutiny will be easier when I find employment which I hope to do within the next few days.” “What will you do?” Amelia inquired. “I will do anything that’s needed. I will scrape barnacles if necessary.” “Is that what you did before the revolution?” Mary giggled, but Quinn shot a sidelong frown Amelia’s way. “No,” he replied tersely. The imposing fort loomed ahead of them on the western shore of the bay, jutting majestically out into the harbor entrance. The huge, stone monument was

constructed of coquina, a hard rock made of shells that had proved impregnable. “That’s Fort Castillo,” Quinn pointed out. “Built by the Spanish over eighty years ago. The British renamed it Saint Mark, but by any name it is a formidable structure.” “And that’s where Jon is being held?” Mary asked in an anguished tone. “In all probability. We will find out shortly.” Amelia regarded the fortress skeptically. If Quinn’s brother was imprisoned behind those thick walls she thought it unlikely he could be freed by force. Her attention was diverted minutes later when they reached the marketplace. The center of the city lay just west of the bay. In the tradition of early Spanish settlers, Saint Augustine began here on this square they called the plaza. The marketplace was the heart of the city, where all manner of goods brought by traders, Seminoles, farmers, and fishermen were sold to the local citizens. At dusk the merchants were preparing to leave for the day. Quinn made himself known to all he could,

introducing Amelia and her maid, Mary. He inquired about where he might find housing and was shown the location of the Governor’s House, where he would be afforded assistance in all matters. The elaborate two-story structure with gabled facade and Doric columns faced the plaza on the west side. A guard house stood on the east end of the plaza and to the south was the state house which held customs, land survey, and navy offices. Saint Peter’s church also lay on the south side of the plaza, boasting a new bell and clock tower almost completed. As they mingled in the marketplace, Quinn charmed everyone he encountered and seemed readily accepted in spite of his colonial accent. His story was one heard many times of late as refugees from the north poured into the city. Amelia’s presence added unquestioned credibility to Quinn’s tale, which he told with great persuasion. If she had not known what a cruel heathen he actually was, Amelia would also have found it impossible to disbelieve him. Quinn presented himself as a man of great charm and affability in the

plaza, his charade completely convincing to all but her. She longed to cry out, “Spy! Secret agent!” She yearned to expose his traitorous soul. Instead, for her grandmother’s sake, she bit her lip. The number of slaves who seemed to wander freely about the marketplace came as a surprise to Amelia. She had never seen slaves without their masters. “Quinn, do you know why the slaves are allowed to roam free here?” “The people you see are not slaves. They are free men and women who have fled from their British plantation masters in the south and are granted asylum here. It seems the Saint Augustine code of conduct allows a free man to remain free,” he explained, then grudgingly added. “For that, at least, this colony is to be commended.” “You approve?” “I do not judge a man by the color of his skin,” Quinn said somberly. “And I see no place for slavery in our new country.” “My father and Sir Basil would disagree with you,” Amelia informed him. The muscles in Quinn’s jaws constricted before

he spoke. “In our new country every man will have the right to his own opinion. In my opinion, slavery is wrong. Plantation owners get rich while slave families are torn apart, beaten, starved, and sold to the highest bidder.” Amelia digested this new information in silence. “There is no difference between you and a young slave girl, except for the shade of your skin,” he added. Although prone to doubt anything Quinn told her everyone knew that rebels held radical beliefs - she was troubled and made up her mind to discover the truth. It was almost dark when they started back to the inn, and Amelia no longer feigned weariness. She was so tired every extremity ached. Quinn patted her hand. “You did very well, Amelia. Tomorrow I will arrange an appointment with Governor Tonyn and we shall get settled. You may find our arrangements here preferable to the isolation of plantation life.” “Never.” It was true her father’s plantation was situated well inland from Savannah, and Amelia had enjoyed

little companionship since her arrival from England. Her books had become her friends, better companions by far than Quinn Hallet. But her beloved books had been left behind in the rush to leave the plantation, another grievance she could lay at Quinn’s feet. Back at the inn, Amelia immediately proceeded up the stairs. “I’ll join you in a moment, sweet thing,” Quinn called after her. No! Her brain shrieked. Quinn grinned up at her. Tossing her head in disdain, she rushed to her chamber. The door banged closed behind her as Amelia dashed to the writing desk. If only she could lock the door - but Quinn kept the key. Her fear of being caught writing a message to Sir Basil was now compounded by the fear that Quinn intended to spend the night with her. And that could mean only one thing. Amelia’s heart beat so hard she could barely catch her breath. She prayed Basil could read her hasty two-line scrawl. It was all she could manage to scratch out before she heard Quinn’s heavy steps in the

corridor. She shoved the letter to the back of the drawer and slammed it closed just as the door opened. Amelia jumped up and whirled around to face Quinn. Very nearly caught red-handed, she felt the warm flush of guilt settle on her cheeks. Her rugged captor regarded her from the doorway in tense, wooden silence. His lean, dark form filled the frame, poised like an angered panther preparing to pounce. Not a muscle in his body moved as his eyes, glittering ominously, fixed on Amelia. “You were so weary moments ago that I expected to find you asleep.” “I ... I ... think ... the mattress is too hard,” she blurted. It was the first reasonable excuse that came to mind. Quinn slowly closed the door behind him and sauntered across the room, his powerful body radiating an undefinable and alarming energy. He did not stop until he was within inches of Amelia’s trembling figure. “Were you considering sleeping atop the desk?”

“No. No, I was simply admiring it.” Amelia’s eyes were level with his chest and the intriguing dark curls which escaped above the buttons of his shirt. “Stand aside, sweet thing, so that I may ... admire it as well.” The low, iron edge to his voice prohibited protest. She stepped aside. “Is it not handsome?” “Actually, it’s quite ordinary,” he stated. Still gazing at the desk, he cocked his head. “Possibly the desk holds something out of the ordinary.” Amelia held her breath as Quinn opened the drawer and ran his hand inside. He withdrew the condemning sheet of paper. As he dangled the letter before her, Quinn’s icy glare held Amelia immobilized. She did not even dare to draw breath. “Let me guess,” he drawled. Fear lodged in Amelia’s throat like a day-old scone. The painful consequence of her failed chemise trail was still fresh in her mind. She straightened her shoulders and struck what she hoped was an innocent and fairly dumb pose. Quinn’s lips drew tight with exasperation as he read Amelia’s missive. “I see you are intelligent

enough to know your letters.” “Yes, I can read and write. But I expect that what you are reading was left behind by the last resident of this bedchamber.” “I expect not,” he answered sharply and proceeded to read her note out loud. “ ‘Dear Sir Basil: Nell and I are held in Saint Augustine. Send help. Love, Amelia.’ ” How had he made out her scrawl so readily? “I daresay there couldn’t possibly be two of you,” he said with a shake of his head. “Such a coincidence would indeed prove devastating to the continent.” Amelia watched in despair as Quinn slowly tore her message to shreds. Tiny particles of paper drifted to the floor like brittle snow. “I did not want Sir Basil to worry.” As the dusky afternoon deepened to the gray light of evening, the mission bell sounded in the distance. It was time for candles to be lit and labor to end. For a fleeting moment, Quinn considered throttling his incorrigible bride. Pity that he needed her. If he ever found the Patriot responsible for

selecting Amelia as the decoy for this mission, he would seriously injure the man. “Sir Basil will have a good deal to worry about if you attempt such a notion again,” he warned her gruffly. “Now get to bed.” Amelia stood motionless. “Did you not hear me?” She twisted the thin gold band encircling her finger nervously. “Wh…where are you going to sleep?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper. He smiled. “Where do you suppose, sweet thing?”

Chapter 6 “I don’t know,” Amelia whispered. “Where will you sleep?” “Why, I will sleep right here beside my wife, of course. In my rightful place.” Her troubled blue eyes revealed his innocent bride’s inner struggle. Undoubtedly she contemplated the inevitable consummation of their

marriage. She lowered her eyes, nervously tugging on her new wedding band. In the heavy silence, Quinn found himself considering how it would be to make love to Amelia. He speculated on how she would feel in his arms. He imagined how it would be to feel her soft, slender body beneath his, to stroke her belly with tingling fingertips and draw lazy circles on her thighs. But with a ragged clearing of his throat, Quinn threw off the insistent urge to take Amelia in the way she imagined he was about to do. She was innocent. A bit dull-witted. And she was the enemy. Collecting himself, Quinn closed his eyes for a moment and then with an impatient stride brushed past Amelia to the bed. He removed one of the coarse blankets and a pillow. “On second thought perhaps it would be safer if I sleep by the door tonight to prevent my sweet wife’s dreams from being disturbed.” Under Amelia’s wary gaze, he folded and spread the blanket on the floor. He’d not had a good night’s sleep in days. And it had been weeks since he’d had a woman. A man could repress his needs for just so

long, and this man wasn’t made of lead. Amelia might be stubborn and slow, but she was a woman. A woman with a figure and face that a man could learn to worship. If she hadn’t a Loyalist mind set. Besides, it was wholly against Quinn’s principles to force his attentions on any woman. Fortunately, in the past more than his fair share of lovely ladies found him attractive enough to insist that he take advantage of their feelings. The down pillow proved comfortable but the blanket did little to pad the hard, bone-splitting floor. Wistfully, he looked over at the bed. Amelia stood stiffly beside the four-poster staring at him, her fingers fidgeting with the folds of her skirt. “What are you waiting for now?” he barked out of pure frustration. “I am waiting for you to close your eyes.” With a weary shake of his head, Quinn complied, though the devil in him urged a peek. Amelia gave a hasty prayer of thanks that Quinn did not seem inclined to demand she perform her wifely duty. Whatever that was. Nell had been none too clear in a previous, hurried “talk.” Turning her back on her rebel husband, Amelia

slipped out of her dress and ripped loose the laces of her bodice. Quickly discarding the garments, she climbed into bed. It was a bit puzzling that Quinn hadn’t demanded his rights. She wondered if he regarded her as undesirable and found the thought mildly disturbing. What could Quinn possibly find displeasing? Perhaps it was her politics that kept her safe from him. If that should prove to be the case, she would cling to her late father and Sir Basil’s beliefs forever. Amelia peered into the darkness but could only discern the outline of Quinn’s body. After a matter of moments, her thoughts took a new direction. If she waited for him to fall into deep slumber, she might run her dagger through his heart. But that gruesome idea only provoked a shudder of revulsion. How could she think such a vile thing? In any event, Quinn’s skin was so thick her small dagger would likely bend and, at best, do more than draw a drop of his cold blood. Regardless of the probity of such an act, Amelia doubted she could intentionally cause physical harm to any human

being. Not that she regarded Quinn Hallet as human exactly. Utter exhaustion finally undermined her determination to stay awake and on guard against a surprise attack by Quinn upon her person in the middle of the night. She did not, could not trust the man. He was too near for comfort. **** Not too many hours later, Quinn woke in a cold sweat. In his nightmare his heart had been slashed. Groggy and disoriented, he pushed himself up on his elbows. His body felt as if it had been stretched on a rack. Every muscle and bone cried for mercy. Sleeping on the floor was no better than resting on a bed of nails. He looked over to the bed where Amelia lay sleeping. The faint sound of her breathing was steady and deep. She was his prisoner, and she was sleeping soundly in a soft bed of down. Why, he asked himself irritably, was he attempting to sleep on the hard wood floor? She would never know if he crept in beside her

now. Quinn pushed himself up and, rolling his massive shoulders, he slowly stretched toward the ceiling, working out the kinks that knotted his body. Removing his damp shirt, he tossed it aside and advanced to the bed. Amelia lay on her side. Her long, silky curls spilled across the pillow. Asleep, she resembled an angel more than ever. Porcelain pale, her lips were slightly parted and her feathery, light lashes brushed softly against her cheek. Quinn breathed a heavy sigh and, looking down on her, shook his head. It was nothing less than a sin that one of the most beautiful creatures in the world had been cursed with an empty head. Or had she? Carefully, quietly, he drew back the quilt which covered her. Amelia’s eyelashes fluttered but her eyes did not open, nor did she move. Quinn waited a moment longer before stealthily slipping into the bed beside her. Just as he congratulated himself for his bold, undetected move, Amelia rolled toward him. In a hazy state she blinked her eyes opened. Quinn watched, still as a statue, offering prayers to

the god of sleep that her eyes would close again. But they didn’t. They widened in translucent blue horror as her lips formed a perfect pink “O.” She was preparing to let out a piercing scream. Quinn did the only thing he could do. He brought his mouth down on hers. Amelia’s lips, parted in surprise, were soft and sweet. Quinn’s kiss, begun as reckless inspiration, deepened as his tongue slid into the moist warmth of her mouth. Savoring the honey taste of her, his heart slammed against his chest as a slow, heavy heat spread through his body. The faint scent of roses invaded his senses and his kiss grew urgent. His hand cupped her face and the skin beneath his fingers felt as soft as satin. His tongue plunged deeper into the moist delicious mouth he explored. Oblivious to all but the smoldering instinct that overwhelmed him, he was unmindful of Amelia squirming beneath him. Until he tasted her tears. Cold blue waves of shame washed over Quinn as reason returned. Slowly he raised his head and looked into Amelia’s eyes. Wide and swimming with tears, they regarded him with a mixture of fear and

bewilderment. Amelia’s misty gaze told him more than he wanted to know. With the back of his hand, he gently brushed her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I could not let you scream. And then ...” His voice trailed off apologetically. He could not explain what had happened to him. He didn’t understand himself how he’d come so close to losing control. Amelia’s eyes remained fixed on him. There was not a flicker of a lash, nor an intake of breath. She lay as still as stone. “I give you my word that I will not touch you again, unless, unless you wish it.” Quinn paused, for his breath still came in hard ragged gasps. His heart continued to pound so loudly that he feared she would hear it and be even more alarmed. “The floor is hard and I am going to sleep in this bed,” he rasped with all the authority he could muster. “But I promise you will be safe from me.” There was no sign that Amelia either heard him or understood what he’d said. The silent tears still spilled from her eyes and trickled slowly to the pillow. Quinn’s heart felt as if it were being ripped from

his chest. The burning ache threatened to destroy his resolve as he followed the trail of her tears. “Goodnight, Amelia.” Before she could respond, he closed his eyes, shutting out the pain of his hostage bride’s turmoil. With a groan of self-loathing, Quinn rolled over, turning his back on her. Desire still racked his body as he lay awake trying to understand how he’d lost control of a simple kiss, a kiss started for the sake of expediency. The stomp of heavy boots could be heard from the corridor. Laughter drifted up from the public room of the inn. Squeaking doors announced the retirement of several guests housed in rooms close to Amelia and Quinn’s chamber. When at last the steady sound of Quinn’s breathing told her he was sleeping, Amelia blinked the remaining tears away. While her body lay rigid against the coarse sheets, within her a storm raged. Her blood rushed through her body as if it were a tide of fire, leaving a burning ache in its wake. Her heart skipped so wildly she thought it would break. Her body had never turned on her. She’d always

enjoyed good health. Amelia feared she was about to die. And it was from something in Quinn’s kiss. When she had opened her mouth to scream, he’d consumed her with his lips, his mouth, and finally his tongue. Vivid shades of scarlet and saffron flashed behind her closed eyes as the flames Quinn ignited swept through her with an intensity that had left her trembling. Amelia had never experienced an emotion so powerful and threatening. With all the inner strength she possessed, she had fought to suppress the unfamiliar response of her body. The tears had come when she could no longer fight the desperate need to return Quinn’s kiss. She had been prepared to surrender her soul, vaguely aware that only Quinn could end the bittersweet ache she felt. Only Quinn could put out the lire inside her. It was then that he withdrew, vowing not to touch her again. Confused and frightened, she lay awake attempting to understand her mysterious feelings. She was still awake when the first hazy light of day streaked across die sky, still waiting for the ache within her to subside.

Amelia wondered what she had done to repulse Quinn. And she swallowed the fear that even now she might be with child. **** Amelia purposefully avoided meeting Quinn’s eyes in the days that followed. He’d kindled a flame, an astonishing heat that sparked and flickered whenever he was near. To Amelia’s consternation, her thoughts were as filled with Quinn as with her plans for escape. Fortunately, she did not see much of the dangerous Patriot. He came to bed long after she was asleep and left before she woke. But the imprint of his body on the bed next to her never failed to cause a peculiar pang in her heart. Fortunately, he appeared too busy to notice Amelia’s discomfort. Mary explained that Quinn spent his time exploring possibilities of employment, learning the city, making acquaintances in the taverns and searching for a residence to lease. Amelia, Nell, and Mary idled the time away in the inn recovering from their arduous journey. Amelia chafed at what was little more than imprisonment but

she knew she needed the enforced rest. The trip had taken a good deal out of her, and even though Quinn had thwarted her last two attempts to gain freedom, she had not given up. If she didn’t flee soon, she feared she would be the Patriot’s prisoner in more ways than one. Though Loyalist refugees had begun to stream in from the north, there was yet an abundance of housing in Saint Augustine. When the city had been claimed by the British in 1761, all but a handful of its Spanish residents had abandoned their homes and fled to Cuba. In a matter of days Quinn secured a fine house just a short distance from the bay in the southern section of the city. The previous occupants had been a prosperous British family from Virginia who had decided to return to England rather than endure the rigorous, tropical life they’d found in Saint Augustine. “Here we are. Home at last. Safe from those rebel scoundrels,” Quinn announced. His eyes twinkled mischievously. He appeared sincerely proud as he led the curious women through the gate of a tall, whitewashed, wooden fence which extended from

the side of the house. The fence enclosed a rambling garden of substantial size. Amid a profusion of bright pink bougainvillea and cherry red azaleas, two weathered chairs sat beneath a wide, sheltering grape arbor. Orange and olive trees also shaded the area which was sadly overgrown with weeds. Amelia could not help but envision how lovely the garden could be - if she were inclined to make it so. Vegetables grew untended among the weeds in a neglected patch in the rear of the house, not far from the outdoor kitchen. The kitchen was little more than a thatched roof supported by four poles which served to protect the cooking fire from the elements. For most of the year the weather was too warm to keep a fire burning all day in the inside hearth. An ancient, live oak sat in the corner of the property, its heavy branches drooping like a weary sentry, guarding strangler vines as they climbed the mildewed fence. This far corner also contained the necessary. Like most dwellings in the city, the house was constructed of coquina and sparkled with the glint of

sun on its imbedded shells. In keeping with traditional Spanish architecture, the main entrance of the house was located on the loggia, which ran along the side garden. The loggia was a long open room which provided shade from the south sun and protection from the north winter winds. Graced by stone arches, the enclosed end of the loggia provided stairs to the second story. Amelia liked the house despite her best intentions to the contrary. The first floor consisted of a great room for dining and indoor cooking when the weather dictated, a parlor, and a small spare room. She knew only the best homes boasted a door which opened onto the street and indoor stairs to the second floor. This house had both. The second story held three bedchambers, and each room featured large, clear glass, shuttered windows strategically placed to catch the prevailing breezes. Though not as grand as the Farnthorpe plantation home, the house on Bridge Street was cozy and comfortable. The former tenants had vacated so quickly, many fine furnishings had been left behind, including a pianoforte and several Chippendale pieces.

As they continued their inspection of the house, Amelia realized that Quinn must have ample funds to lease such a residence. Where would a Patriot come by such wealth? A niggling seed of suspicion sprouted in answer, suggesting to Amelia that wine wasn’t all that Quinn had stolen from her dear deceased father’s plantation. “This is your bedchamber, Amelia,” Quinn said. He opened the door to a well-appointed room overlooking the street. “Each of you ladies will have a room upstairs and I will sleep in the small chamber downstairs.” It was the first plan of Quinn’s that met with Amelia’s wholehearted approval. The strain of sharing her bed with a heathen-thief-scoundrel-spy had been causing her ever-increasing anxiety. “I believe I will like it very well here,” Nell declared as she examined the rear bedchamber. “Would it be possible to take a spot of laudanum now? All this excitement has certainly stirred my nerves.” “Granny Nell, there’s work to be done. You ladies will have to clean the house and stock our pantry. I’ll have our belongings sent from the inn and then I must go off to an appointment with the governor.”

Even though Mary never let her out of sight when Quinn was absent, Amelia considered the young woman much the lesser of two evils. She breathed a sigh as she watched Quinn leave. Ever since bestowing the reckless kiss that had rocked her to her toes, the rebel spy had treated her with cool politeness. And to Amelia’s astonishment, she found Quinn’s new remoteness even more unbearable than his taunting. Than the nearness of him. Mary announced that she and Amelia would visit the market. Nell was allowed to stay at home. As soon as she spotted the pianoforte in the corner of the parlor, she had been eager to sit down at the instrument. Though she hadn’t played in some time, her fingers ached to touch the keys. She promised Mary that she would stay happily engaged in practicing. If only she could sway Mary as easily as her grandmother, Amelia thought. But once they’d arrived in the marketplace she was glad she’d come. The center of the town bustled with energy and activity. “We shall purchase some rice and bananas,

limes for juice, and vegetables. The raccoons and squirrels have left little in the garden,” Mary murmured almost to herself, as she and Amelia surveyed the plaza. “How will we carry all we need?” Amelia asked. Never having done any marketing, she was quite ignorant but reluctant to show it. “Should we not have a servant to help us?” Mary shook her head. “We’ll manage,” the darkhaired girl assured her. “There are two of us after all.” “But I have never carried more than a few light packages,” Amelia protested. “Do not worry. I am confident you have the required strength.” But Amelia did worry. Especially when, after making most of their purchases, they came to a stall with chickens hanging by their feet. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Both the sight and the smell were offensive. “There! There is a fine, plump chicken,” Mary pointed out with relish. “It still has its feathers,” Amelia objected, as her

stomach rolled over. Her companion laughed. “Amelia you have truly led a sheltered life. We will pluck the feathers.” “Pluck?” she repeated after a moment of shocked silence. “One by one?” she asked, attempting to imagine such a revolting task. “Yes.” “That will take forever.” “Not after we submerge the bird in boiling water.” “But my hands!” Amelia wailed. “I have been doing it for years, Amelia, and my hands have not fallen off,” Mary teased. However, it was no laughing matter for Amelia and she took special note of Mary’s hands as her companion paid the merchant. They were rough and calloused from labor, even though Mary was not much older than she. Amelia shuddered. Under the weight of their purchases, the girls walked slowly home. The air was crisp and the sky a blanket of clear powder blue. A refreshing, light salty wind blew in from the bay and teased their hair. Reveling in the glorious day, Amelia did not - could not -feel like a prisoner. “How old are you, Mary?” she asked.

Somewhere, and at some time she had read that it was extremely important to know and understand your adversary. Mary’s black eyes sparkled. “I shall be twenty in a matter of months, though sometimes I feel much older,” she admitted. “You are very pretty.” It certainly could not hurt to flatter the foe, Amelia thought. In truth, Mary was pretty. “Are you trying to charm me, Amelia?” “No. Really I speak the truth,” Amelia insisted. “I’m surprised you are not married.” At that, Mary lowered her eyes, seeming to stare at her feet. “I was married. Matthew and I were married for a year before he was killed.” “Oh, I am so sorry,” Amelia murmured as her heart constricted in sympathy for her companion. Mary lifted her head and looked Amelia directly in the eyes. “He was plowing, tending our land when he was killed by a British soldier.” “How terrible,” Amelia whispered, suddenly unable to breathe. The bottom dropped from her stomach. She did not miss the message. One of her countrymen was responsible for Mary’s broken

heart. Sorely regretting her decision to bring up the subject of marriage, she searched for something comforting to say to the precise, ever-organized girl by her side. “You are young and beautiful and I know you will marry again.” “Then you know more than I.” Once home, the hours passed quickly. In a flurry of activity they cleaned the bedchambers and prepared the evening meal to the accompaniment of Nell at the pianoforte. Out of practice, the old woman struck more than several sour notes. Still, as long as Amelia was forced to work, the work went easier accompanied by music. After sweeping every room in the house, Amelia examined her hands closely. Little red bumps were clearly beginning to form on her fingers. Her transformation to drudge had begun! Mary insisted that Amelia watch everything she did and learn from her. “In England it may not be necessary to know the fundamentals of housekeeping, but in North America it’s a necessity.” “I have always had servants.” “Of course you have.” Mary gave her a rueful

smile. “You have been truly spoiled. Tell me, have you been trained to any practical skills at all?” “I embroider,” Amelia replied with a tilt of her chin. She had been spoiled, not that she would acknowledge it. She’d never considered being spoiled a wicked thing. Mary nodded. “Embroidery will come in handy when we sew.” “Sew?” Amelia echoed in surprise. “Sewing is what seamstresses do.” “Making our own garments will save us precious money. Our only cost will be the price of the fabric.” Amelia released a heavy sigh. The Patriots did indeed expect a lot of her. “Speaking of dresses,” Mary added, “It’s time we cleaned our traveling clothes.” Amelia shook her head. “My dress is torn and stained beyond repair. It is of no use to me any longer, except perhaps to use for rags.” Mary made a light clucking sound. “Amelia, we will mend the tears. I fear Quinn is right. You are more than just spoiled. You have been terribly spoiled.”

An hour later, Amelia didn’t feel particularly spoiled as she plucked the chicken. She held the bird out as far as possible, while she performed her repulsive task to the music of Brahms. Her grandmother played the piece rather poorly and blamed her problem on not having enough laudanum. Quinn Hallet was to blame for this sorry situation. But she admired Mary whose energy amazed Amelia. She seemed to be everywhere as they put the house in order. “Are you watching, Amelia?” she asked, as she heaped more kindling on the fire. “We will roast the chicken on a spit and have a good, home-cooked supper tonight.” There was no way Amelia was going to be able to swallow even the smallest morsel of the bird in her hand. If this was life in Colonial North America, she was more grateful than ever to be returning to England - as soon as she could make her escape. “Quinn must have been delayed,” Mary fretted, when the meal was prepared and he hadn’t come home. “I’ll keep things warm and ... you rest Amelia. You’ve worked hard today.”

“Thank you,” Amelia smiled gratefully. She appreciated Mary’s praise and thoughtfulness. Under more favorable circumstances she and Mary might be friends. For all her practicality the darkhaired Patriot possessed a kind heart. Compassion shone from her quiet, observant eyes. Amelia wandered into the parlor. Weary and indifferent to her disheveled appearance after a day of housekeeping, Amelia sank into the burgundy winged-back chair. A Midsummer Night’s Dream lay on the side table. Without stopping to wonder where it had come from, she picked it up and began to read. She was so engrossed that she did not hear Quinn enter the room. “Are you reading Shakespeare?” he quizzed. Startled, Amelia slammed the book shut as she lifted her gaze to his. Quinn regarded her evenly from across the room. “No,” she answered determined to keep him off guard with her dull-witted rouse. “I was merely skimming the pages, looking for the sketches.” Quinn chuckled. Her heart fluttered softly as his mouth curved upward in a crooked smile. It had been days since

she’d seen his smile. The warm gleam of strong white teeth against his dark skin held Amelia in rapt attention, until she heard a faint mewing sound from the leather pouch slung across Quinn’s shoulder. “What was that?” Quinn’s smile broadened as he reached into the pouch and withdrew a tiny, orange kitten. “I have brought you a friend.” “Oh!” Amelia could barely believe her eyes. A rush of pleasure swept through her, warming her insides like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day. She jumped from the chair and hurried across the room to scoop the kitten from his outstretched hands. “Oh, Quinn, thank you. Thank you so much!” “I found her in an alley. She appeared to need someone to love her.” Smiling, Amelia gently cradled the scrawny kitten to her breast. “I will love you, kitty.” “She needs a name as well. Unless you intend to call her Kitty.” Amelia inclined her head, studying the kitten. “I think I shall call you Sophie Too,” she crooned. “Although you are the color of a pumpkin. Perhaps

you should be called Pumpkin. What do you think, Quinn? What should I call her?” Quinn cleared his throat several times as if something had stuck. Finally he answered- “Her name is up to you.” “All right then.” Amelia’s gaze locked on his. He had given her a friend in the kitten, someone to love, someone who would return her love unconditionally. “She is the best gift I have ever been given. Thank you.” Golden flecks danced in the green depths of Quinn’s eyes as he favored her with a lopsided smile. “I was hoping you’d name her after me.” “Rebel?” “No.” “Heathen rebel?” “No! Quinn!” Laughing, Amelia pulled the ribbon from her hair and sank to the floor. Playfully teasing her new feline friend, she drew the ribbon slowly across the floor for the orange puff of fur. She had no doubt that when she was not occupied with escape plans, the kitten would provide hours of entertainment. The kitten pranced and pawed, stepping

sideways and backward, finally pouncing directly upon the ribbon. Amelia’s light musical laughter held Quinn spellbound. He realized he’d never seen Amelia happy before. He’d known her frightened, defiant, angry, and obstinate, but he’d never seen a sparkle in her blue eyes or the brilliant smile she wore now. For a single moment he silently declared himself prepared to do whatever was necessary to keep the smile on her face, and in her heart. But what was he thinking? Amelia would betray him in an instant to gain freedom and passage to England for herself and Nell. He knew it was just a matter of time before she would attempt another escape.

Chapter 7 “Come, Amelia, our supper is waiting.” Quinn offered his arm in the manner he imagined Sir Basil would take. He knew of Basil only through his intelligence report but still could not understand why Amelia would marry the weasel for a mere title.

After putting out a bowl of fresh cream for her new kitten, Amelia helped Mary set the table with heaping dishes of corn and beans, sweet potatoes, and roast chicken. Tantalizing aromas mingled in a delicious cloud that hovered above the table. Amelia realized this was how it was done in a colonial family when there were no servants to dance attendance. Seated at the head of the table, Quinn filled and passed each plate. The master of the house was also master at the table. “Amelia, are you not having any chicken?” Quinn asked. “I…I have no taste for it.” Mary grinned. “Amelia plucked her first chicken today.” “I see.” Quinn’s eyes crinkled at the corners as they came to rest on Amelia. “You did an excellent job. I have tasted no feathers.” Amelia gagged. Mary giggled. And Quinn chuckled. Only Nell showed any sympathy. “You what? Oh, my poor child. Amelia was not born to do such things,” she told Quinn with a disapproving frown.

“Granny Nell, you should be glad she can learn at least basic woman’s work.” Nell nibbled at the corner of her mouth, puzzling over such a statement. “Do you believe Amelia to be dull?” “Quinn knows the worst, Grandmother.” Amelia’s revolutionary husband shot her a dark glance before continuing. “I spent a good deal of time with Governor Tonyn today. There is an interesting policy regarding prisoners in this city. If one takes an oath and signs a document pledging not to flee, you may live outside the fort.” “Is Jon free then?” Mary asked, leaning eagerly toward Quinn. “Jon has refused to sign the pledge since his incarceration in the fort. However, the governor has promised to release Jon to my custody if I will take full responsibility for him. And if I can convince Jon to put his signature to the document.” “That is wonderful news,” Amelia put in. If Quinn’s mission was to be accomplished so speedily, certainly she and Nell would be set free in a matter of days. Quinn shook his head. “Jon is a man of

principles.” “And terribly stubborn,” Mary added. “With your powers of persuasion, I am sure you will deal successfully with your brother,” Amelia offered helpfully. “I appreciate your confidence in me, sweet thing,” Quinn replied with a wink. “When Jon’s release is accomplished, will you free Grandmother and me?” “Where would you go?” “Back to Sir Basil and then home to England,” she replied without hesitation. “Free my biddable wife?” he chided. “You would be free also,” she pointed out. “Are you suggesting a divorce?” Amelia lifted her head with regal primness. It was a shocking thing she’d proposed. “Yes. How soon can we arrange it?” “You set me in despair,” Quinn lamented in a mocking tone. “Just as I thought we were growing attached and becoming a genuine, happy family.” He raked a hand through his blue-black hair. “No, I cannot contemplate divorce.” “But why? You have no feelings for me. Or I for

you,” she added. Her eyes narrowed as another thought occurred to her. “You have other plans. You are here to do more than free your brother,” she accused him in hushed tones. Quinn’s tone chilled. “Do not let your imagination give you grief.” “Only you give me grief.” “Moments ago I gave you a kitten.” “And now I understand the reason. You gave me Sophie Too as a bribe.” The ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to echo in the tension-filled silence. The noise of scraping forks grated. Quinn sat back, studying Amelia as he rubbed his tankard of ale. She asked too many questions, assumed too much. It seemed her mind worked very quickly on occasion, and then not at all. As he had noted on many occasions of late, his bride presented an interesting contradiction. “I shall endeavor in the future to give you less grief. I shall be the best of husbands. I will fulfill your desires and satisfy your every ... demand.” “You shall never be the man my father chose for

me to wed.” “You are speaking of Sir Basil, I assume.” “Yes.” “Then you’re right. I shall never be that man. Thankfully.” Amelia pouted. Quinn glowered. In the ensuing silence, he struggled to hold his temper in check. Placing his tankard on the table, he forced a smile for Nell and Mary, who sat frozen in embarrassment. Both women regarded their pewter dinner plates as if they were objects of art. They looked neither up nor down; to the right nor to the left. “I beg you to forgive Amelia and me. Somehow our conversation has taken an improper direction for family at the table. Allow me to change the subject.” He leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “I have discovered a fine dressmaker on Saint George Street who looks forward to your patronage, ladies. We have already received invitations to several social engagements and I believe you should have the proper attire.” “We can make our own dresses, Quinn,” Mary

told him as she passed the plate of chicken to Nell. “While I am confident you possess the talent to do so, I cannot think that Amelia or Granny Nell have the skill or experience required.” “I can teach them,” she responded, practical in all matters. Quinn raised a dubious eyebrow. “Perhaps, but it would please me to make these gifts. Take yourselves to Violet Reed’s shop tomorrow. She is expecting you.” “I cannot accept such a gift from you,” Amelia balked, breaking her silence. “Will you attend Governor Tonyn’s dinner next week dressed as you are?” Another, quite different, silence descended upon the diners. A dinner party at Government House! A surge of excitement swiftly banished Amelia’s stubborn refusal to accept a new dress. Attending such a dinner would most certainly present an opportunity to seek asylum from the Patriots. “I will require only one gown.” Quinn grinned. “I am excessively pleased that you have agreed with me on something at last,” he commented drolly.

Amelia allowed herself a small smile. The Patriot did possess a lively sense of humor. She wondered, however, if he would be so amused if he realized her ready acquiescence was intended to serve her own ends. **** Quinn was feeling well-pleased with himself. He’d forced a genuine smile to his Loyalist bride’s lips twice in as many hours. Perhaps he might yet crumble Amelia’s defiance. He smiled absentmindedly as he watched her feed the kitten soft crumbs from her plate. He could not deny he took unexpected pleasure in her smile. The mission was fully under way now and avoiding Amelia was impossible. He meant to win her, and she must appear to be his wife in every way. “Sweet thing, it’s time for us to take a moonlight stroll.” Amelia regarded Quinn as if he had lost his mind. “I am too weary to walk,” she protested, stroking the kitten. “I have been working like a common servant all the day.” “I will hold you up should you swoon from

weakness,” he quipped, coming around to hold her chair. “Why must you torture me so?” Nell waved a trembling hand in the air. “I need my laudanum now.” “See to it, Mary. My wife and I must demonstrate to our neighbors what a happy couple we are.” With that he steered Amelia to the door. The night was cool and dark with only a sliver of moonlight and a sprinkling of stars. Amelia shivered as they began their stroll toward the bay. “It is too cold for a walk, Quinn.” “I’ll keep you warm,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder and drawing her close to him. “Take care not to struggle or we will not present the proper picture.” “I do not care if we present the proper picture or not,” she retorted. He held her so closely she could feel the lusty heat radiating from his body. “You care about Granny Nell, don’t you?” When she didn’t answer, he went on. “I don’t expect you to care for me, Amelia, but I do demand you act well your role as my enamored bride.”

“How silly,” she declared with distracted bravado. Her mind toyed with the odd notion that somehow Quinn’s heat had transferred itself, flowing into her body like warm milk through a sieve. “Neither men nor women ever marry for love.” “Is that so?” he asked, raising a caustic eyebrow. “Pray tell me, why do men and women marry?” “For convenience. For titles ... for heirs and for financial security. And, after today, I am now certain colonial men marry in order to make slaves of their wives.” “You have an interesting, mother country view of marriage,” Quinn allowed. “Refresh my memory, what was your reason for marrying… what’s his name?” “Sir Basil!” Amelia bristled, irritated anew by her loss and Quinn’s insensitivity. “A noble man of culture and virtue.” “As opposed to me.” “Exactly. My father arranged the marriage to insure my happiness.” “Lady Amelia,” he intoned flatly. “Do you love Sir Basil?” Amelia had asked herself that same question

countless times. “I…I am not certain,” she confessed. “I have not known him for long. Besides, it is not necessary to love him in order to marry him.” “Did he make your heart beat faster when he entered a room?” Quinn asked. “Could you think of nothing else but Basil all the day? Did you long to see him when you were apart?” “No.” “Then I fear you were not in love.” “In time perhaps I would have learned to love Basil,” she responded confidently. “And it made my father so happy to think ... to think ...” Amelia’s voice trailed off as she blinked back the sudden tears. “Sweet thing, happy brides do not cry.” “I am not crying,” she insisted, sniffling and batting back her tears. When they reached the bay, a gentle pressure on her arm brought Amelia to a stop. The wind whipped long, silky strands of hair into her face. The incoming tide splashed against the rocks below sending up a salty spray that forced her to step back. Instinctively, Amelia turned her head into Quinn’s chest. He tightened his hold on her, drawing her still closer to him.

The scent of his masculinity had a strangely spellbinding effect. The beating of his heart, strong and steady in her ear, was somehow comforting. Swept into a need she did not recognize, Amelia snuggled into the cozy shelter of her enemy’s arms. But as soon as Quinn wrapped his free arm around her and began stroking her back, the ripples of warm pleasure that shot down her spine brought Amelia back to her senses. Angry with herself for being caught up in his game, she wiggled from Quinn’s arms. As she turned away, he caught her hand in his. “Look at me.” Hesitantly, Amelia lifted her eyes to his. The intensity of his gaze held her breathless. “Why is it that sometimes you cling to me before pushing me away? Why is it that often I see a spark of intelligence in your eyes, Amelia? And at other times there is nothing there, only a blank stare. At times you read Shakespeare and other times you cannot remember my name. I wonder if there is anything you really do not understand?” Amelia swallowed. “I understand that you wed me by force for your own devious purpose. I am not

altogether ... lacking in sense.” “You would not attempt to deceive me by acting a simpering miss, would you?” Quinn asked. His remarkable green eyes glinted with challenge as they narrowed on hers. Amelia lowered her head and responded meekly, “How could I deceive you?” “A woman’s wiles.” “You are far too perceptive and I am only a dullwitted woman trained in skills deemed useless in this country.” “Such as?” “I embroider.” “Embroider?” Quinn gazed at Amelia thoughtfully. “You’re right,” he said at last. “I am perceptive. I can never be deceived for long.” “I am humbled by your male superiority,” she said. And amazed by your arrogance, she added to herself. “I am not superior, but in our new country neither am I frowned upon for being the son of indentured servants.” Amelia was stunned. “Your parents are

servants?” “It was the only way they could come to North America and escape the poverty and persecution in England,” he explained, as he looked out over the bay. “My mother and father worked for ten years as indentured servants in Virginia. When their contract ended they moved us to Maryland.” As he peered into the darkness Quinn’s small smile was wistful, his tone nostalgic as he continued. “A small plot of land and a small farm was all it took to make their dream come true.” “You are a farmer’s son?” Amelia came from a world of strict class distinction, a world in which she would not be allowed to pass any time with the son of farmers. “Yes, and when my father died, I became the farmer. But the point is, Amelia, in this new country of ours, the aristocratic blue color of your blood means nothing. Be you a lady, countess, earl, or marquise, a title is meaningless here. You are given only the respect you earn. Men and women need marry only for love.” “You mouth the ideas of radical men.” “It is a new way of thinking and living, a departure

from an archaic way of life,” Quinn corrected her with a twinkle in his eye. Such subversive Patriot views were contrary to everything Amelia had been taught and she knew them to be wrong. She wagged her head sadly. Her life would never be the same. Quinn had destroyed her future the day he stole her from the plantation and Sir Basil. She was married to the son of servants and farmers. Her father was probably spinning in his grave. “Once you accept this new way of living, you may find the change to be welcome,” her compelling captor suggested, raising her hand to his lips. The moist warmth of his touch triggered a bolt of heat that shot straight to Amelia’s toes. She took a ragged breath before speaking, softly, calmly. “I doubt that I shall ever embrace change. Everything in my life was fine as it was.” “Stubborn woman.” “Can we return now?” she asked testily, hating her body for responding to the heathen’s touch. Once again his closeness had caused confusion in her mind, chaos throughout her body. A deep

shudder ran through her. “You’re shivering again. Come here.” Amelia hesitated as he held out his arms. “Come here,” he demanded in a deep, husky tone. Puffing a sigh she walked into Quinn’s outstretched arms with an air of resignation. “Now, if you will put your arm around my waist,” he instructed her, “we will appear to be truly attached.” Reluctantly, Amelia did as she was told, struck at once by the heat and hardness of his body. Her throat felt excessively dry. Her heart skipped a beat. “Like this?” “Exactly so. Now, tell me what you can do other than read and write and embroider.” “I do not understand.” Amelia treaded with care. A sixth sense told her Quinn knew she had hoaxed him. “How did you pass the time before you became my ... bride?” She could not reveal anything that Quinn might use against her in the future. “I was schooled in the genteel arts. I play the pianoforte and sketch.”

“And embroider.” “Yes.” “I would like you to make a sketch of me some day.” She would be more than happy to oblige Quinn in his request. She would create a sketch with a likeness so great he would be tracked down and imprisoned when she displayed it to the entire king’s army. “If you would like,” Amelia answered coolly. “Do you ride?” “No,” she murmured. That was much to her regret, for she would have made her escape days ago by stealing Quinn’s horse. “I will teach you. It’s not difficult.” “I shall look forward to your lessons,” she answered honestly. With a small smile of satisfaction, Quinn nodded his head in agreement. “It’s a pity our countries are pitted against each other, is it not?” Startled by his question, Amelia did not know what to reply. “Otherwise, I think we should get along quite well,” he said, answering his own question.

If there were no conflict, what would their relationship be she wondered? Could she dare to love the son of farmers? Could she overlook Quinn’s tyrannical ways for the pleasure of his kisses? Amelia’s thoughts kept her occupied during the walk home. **** Nell was included in the shopping expedition the following day to Mistress Reed’s dressmaking establishment. The fittings, selection of fabrics, and a fair amount of local gossip from the lively proprietress took most of the afternoon. By the time they arrived home, Amelia and Mary managed to convince Nell it wouldn’t be time for her drug until after supper. They quickly set about preparing the meal before she could protest further. The task seemed less difficult to Amelia than the day before, and she was relieved to hear from Mary that Quinn would not be dining with them. She vaguely wondered what he was doing but was glad of the respite from his company. She always had to be on guard against his piercing glances, knowing glances that seemed to read her thoughts. Most of all she found herself on guard

against his powerful virility. The rough-hewn masculinity that seemed always to simmer from his broad shoulders. Amelia retreated to her bedchamber as soon as she’d helped Mary clean up and she’d seen Grandmother Nell safely in bed. She closed the door behind her and let out a whispered whoop of joy which startled her napping kitten. She crouched to caress the orange puff of fur curled beside her bed. Quinn’s unexpected absence had provided her with an unexpected opportunity to flee. She did not fear Mary but hoped that should an encounter occur it would not lead to fisticuffs. Having no idea when Quinn would return she had to act quickly. If Mary stayed in the great room for just awhile longer, Amelia could sneak out the front door and not be missed. She knew the city well enough now to take the swiftest route to the governor’s house. When she revealed her plight, the ordeal would be over. Surely, the governor would help her free her grandmother before they arrested Quinn - and Mary. The thought of Mary being imprisoned brought Amelia up short. She knew her conscience would

plague her if any harm came to Mary. Though the rebel’s partner was the enemy as much as Quinn, Mary had been patient and kind on most occasions. It wasn’t her fault that she had succumbed to Quinn’s great good looks. If Amelia was honest with herself, she would be forced to admit that she had come dangerously close to surrendering to the Patriot’s spell as well. The pity was that he used Mary as his tool. In the end Amelia decided she would simply neglect mentioning Mary’s name to Governor Tonyn. She hadn’t time to tarry over details. The dagger still remained in her grandmother’s jotting bag. Amelia needed what little protection the small weapon offered before venturing out into the night alone. Opening the door just a crack, she made certain the corridor was clear before she eased out of her chamber and down the hall to her grandmother’s room. Nell snored loudly. The older woman was in no danger of being disturbed by anything short of cannon fire. Amelia tiptoed to the dressing table where her sleeping grandmother’s bag lay beside a burning

candle. She quickly found her weapon and extinguished the candle. The house was quiet and Amelia could not be certain of Mary’s whereabouts. To make good her escape she had to leave by the street entrance off the parlor, for Quinn had secured the door to the back stairs on their first day in the house. Should she discover Mary in the parlor, Amelia would simply say she could not sleep and came downstairs for a book. But if luck were with her this night, Amelia would find Mary waiting for Quinn in the great room. Taking a deep breath to summon her courage, Amelia started down die stairs, hoping they would not creak beneath her feet. Her hands were trembling and her knees felt as if they might buckle out from under her at any time, as again on tiptoe she fought her fear and took another step. She had descended another three steps before she heard the voices of Quinn and Mary, speaking very low and intensely. No! Quinn had returned. Amelia stopped. If Quinn caught her, she might

not as easily be able to convince him she’d come down for a book. She strained to hear what her two captors were discussing. “... The vessel is carrying arms and powder,” Quinn said. His tone was hushed and urgent. “When you meet, you must first say you have been sent by Liberty. Is that clear?” “Yes.” “Liberty is my code name. The word that will ensure your safety.” “I understand.” Amelia drew in a deep breath. The rebel spies were plotting! Just as she had suspected, they had traveled to Saint Augustine to do more than rescue Jon Hallet. Lies! That was all she could expect from the lips of Quinn Hallet. Indecision warred within her. Should she run or continue eavesdropping? “He is a sympathizer, long impatient that no popular assembly has been instituted by the governor. And he feels his king has been misled by foolish advisors. You should be able to conduct this business and be back quickly.” “I will be,” Mary replied with resolution.

“But it is I who should be going.” “No, Quinn, it is much safer for a woman. How many times have I done this in the past?” For whatever it was that she was about to undertake, it was clear Mary possessed more courage than Amelia. Especially at this moment, when she stood paralyzed at the bottom of the stairs. If Mary and Quinn found her this way, she certainly would be severely punished. But who was the revolutionary sympathizer Mary would soon rendezvous with? Amelia reminded herself the front door was only a few yards away. She must not throw away this opportunity to gain her freedom. King George would never know that she had rejected the role of counterspy in order to serve her own interests. But the room was pitch black. The only flicker of light came from the great room where Quinn and Mary plotted their devious schemes. When would another opportunity to flee present itself? The rebels were so absorbed in their conversation she could be gone before they realized it. Determined not to turn back with freedom just a few yards away, Amelia admonished herself to have

courage and made a stealthy dash through the darkness for the door. Her pulse raced wildly as she groped for the door latch. She could not find it at first and her hands shook like a palsied old woman as they skimmed along the edge of the door. At last making contact with the metal, her heart skipped a beat as the door opened - with a terrible squeak. Terror froze in her throat as Amelia plunged into the night.

Chapter 8 Amelia stumbled on the first and only step. She went down with a wouf. In her rush to freedom, she had twisted her ankle. Panicked, her heart took on a wild, frenzied beat. Drawing a shallow breath, she pushed herself up and turned toward the corner of the street. Placing full weight on her ankle proved painful but if she could make it half a block to the main street, surely there would be someone there who would help her. In the distance she heard the whinny of a horse and male voices raised in song.

But drunken soldiers returning to their barracks did not frighten her half as much as Quinn, sober and angry. Half-limping, half-running, Amelia lurched forward. She’d only gone several yards when a hand reached from behind and grabbed her upper arm. Heaving for breath and the strength to fight, Amelia tried to pull away but was whirled around and scooped into Quinn’s arms. Just as she was about to scream for help, he crushed her against him and brought his mouth down on hers in a bruising kiss that quite literally took her breath away. When at last he released her, Amelia gasped for air. “Sweet thing, you must yearn for my kisses.” Glowering, he ground the words out softly. His eyes flashed with fury. “You keep forcing me to silence you.” “I yearn for only one thing,” she hissed. “Escape from your evil rebel clutches!” “But you know I always win at these impetuous games you play.” Amelia’s lips stung, her ankle throbbed, and her blood boiled at being thwarted again. “One day you

will lose, Quinn Hallet.” To her surprise he chuckled, though the sound held no merriment. “I cannot help but admire your unflagging spirit.” “Sir Basil will soon come to my rescue.” He chuckled again and swung Amelia up into his arms. Held tightly against him, she could feel the simmering heat and the force of his anger as he carried her back into the house in long, resolute strides. What would he do to her once they were alone? He was a dangerous man. And he was clearly enraged. Her stomach churned with sudden nausea. Quinn proceeded to carry her up the stairs, past a clearly troubled Mary. He kicked open the door to Amelia’s bedchamber with a sharp thud and deposited her on the bed with such force, she bounced. Grasping the quilt cover she inched to the center of the large bed, unconsciously massaging her injured ankle. Quinn loomed over her, fists on hips, seething with rage. Her heart beat so rapidly she thought it might burst from her chest. “You are trying my patience sorely,” he growled

between his teeth. During the brief chase, Quinn’s hair had come loose from the leather strip at the nape of his neck. The shiny, blue-black waves fell to his shoulders framing his gleaming eyes and dark face. Demon-like, he presented a scowling beast born from Amelia’s worst nightmare. At the same time, he was the most exciting man she’d ever known. She held her breath without realizing it, afraid to make the slightest movement. “You have been gifted with an uncommon amount of stubbornness,” he snarled, throwing his arms in the air. “Are you Great Britain’s secret weapon, let loose in the colonies to create havoc?” Could Quinn not hear the hard knocking of her heart as she fought to overcome her fear of him? Did he expect a reply from her? Frozen on the bed, Amelia watched him warily, as her frightened kitten darted under the bed. Quinn raised his eyes to the ceiling as if he were searching for divine guidance. “Speak to me, Queenie.” “N…no,” Amelia answered in a voice that was barely audible. “I am not a secret weapon.”

“No?” he repeated sharply. “You are positive there are no more English beauties to cause us chaos? How relieved I am to hear that, else I would acknowledge defeat right now.” His biting sarcasm cut the tension, filled the air like the sharp edge of a bayonet. Carefully, Amelia wiggled from the center of the bed. “Are you going somewhere?” he thundered. “I simply wanted to stand,” she said, gathering her courage. At least if she was on her feet she could throw herself out the window if Quinn made a move to thrash her. “Stand then.” Quinn raked a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. His eyes narrowed on her. “Do not mistake the matter. From this moment on, you will be watched day and night. You have bungled your last opportunity to flee. I will not let you out of my sight again. Do I make myself clear?” “Yes.” She couldn’t stand. Her ankle pained her too much. Her lips quivered but Amelia stubbornly refused to reveal her distress. “What did you overhear tonight?” he demanded.

“Nothing. I ... I did not hear anything.” “You are not well enough practiced in the art of deception, Amelia. The blush on your cheeks gives your lie away.” “I, I swear to you,” she stammered, “I did not hear anything - that I understood.” “It has been days since I believed you had no sense,” he growled. “You are one of the most intelligent women it’s ever been my misfortune to meet. So listen well. Granny Nell will be sent to a prisoner of war camp faster than a rabbit breeds if you breathe a word of what you heard tonight.” “No!” “Consider yourself under house arrest by the Revolutionary Army. And when you say your prayers tonight, give thanks that I did not beat you to within an inch of your life!” he roared. Casting a quelling glance that might have undone Amelia had she been a weaker woman, Quinn turned on his heel and stormed to the door. “You are despicable,” she said softly under her breath. “What?” “I said, goodnight.”

Quinn shot a cold, suspicious glance her way and slammed the door behind him. The door was still reverberating when Amelia wrenched off her wedding ring and flung it across the room. “Bully! Mean, horrid, devil heathen!” The ring bounced off the wall and rolled under the dressing table. “There will be another time, Patriot monster! An opportunity that I shall make,” she vowed. The Patriot scoundrel would find it impossible to watch her day and night. The arrogant, almighty Quinn Hallet would rue the day he abducted her! But he already did. Quinn shook his head as he listened outside of Amelia’s bedchamber as she raged. She would be the death of him literally, unless his contingency plan worked. He started down the corridor but halted in mid-step. Why hadn’t he given her the thrashing she deserved? He’d only threatened, and up to this point, none of his threats had discouraged her. Even now Amelia blistered the air of her bedchamber, hardly the actions of a woman subdued, a woman who had given up hope of escape. Quinn turned on his heel and with new resolution

marched back through Amelia’s door. She was on her hands and knees, bottom up. Petticoats did not disguise her well-formed bottom. Distracted momentarily, he paused before barking, “What are you doing?” Amelia turned her head slowly. “Nothing,” she replied in a frosty tone. “Get up,” he ordered. She scrambled to her feet and then struck a regal pose. “What’s that in your hand?” he asked. “Your ring. I dropped your ring.” “You mean your wedding band?” “Yes.” Quinn rubbed his jaw. “I don’t recall my mother ever having dropped her wedding ring. She never removed it as a matter of fact. Perhaps you did not ‘drop’ it at all, but threw it across the room?” “Why should I do such a thing?” “It may have crossed your mind while you were berating me for being a devil heathen.” Her extraordinary blue eyes grew as wide as the summer sky. “You eavesdropped on me!” “Tell me, Amelia, did your mother fling her jewelry

about in the midst of tantrums?” The mention of her mother seemed to bring her up short. She lowered her head. “My mother?” “Tell me what sort of example she set for you.” “My mother died when I was born,” she said quietly. She lifted her eyes to confront Quinn with a steady, cool gaze. “I have no memory of her.” Quinn’s heart twisted to a hard, painful knot in his chest. The air left his lungs as if he’d been struck by a powerful blow. “I am sorry,” he said at last. “I did not know.” “There are many things you do not know.” She sank down to the bed, perching on its edge, reaching down to rub her ankle. “It must have been difficult for you.” Quinn experienced an insane desire to massage her injury, to gently knead the soft skin of her ankle and foot, to heal the hurt. “Granny Nell raised me, in a fashion. For the most part I lived with my governess and tutors in grandmother’s country house in Bath. Nell stayed in London most of the time. She has always been extremely sociable, which is why it has been difficult

for her in North America. Without her friends, she depends on the laudanum.” “What of your father?” “He left for America shortly after mother’s death. Father sought forgetfulness, adventure perhaps, and a new plantation fortune.” “You must have been very lonely.” “Not at all.” She gave a toss of her head, bouncing the golden ringlets at her shoulders. “And very brave,” Quinn added, suddenly aching to touch her silken curls. “Nonsense. Many of my friends were brought up by their governesses as well. That is the way it is done. I do not require your pity.” “And you shall not have it,” he said quietly, sitting down beside her. Fanciful shadows cast by the flickering candlelight danced on the walls. The fragrant scent of orange blossoms which filled a porcelain jug sweetened the air. Amelia had told Quinn more about her than he should know, and he would surely use the information against her. She had not used her brain. Surely her enemy must have his weaknesses, though

none were apparent. She had nothing to lose by questioning him. “How many brothers and sisters have you?” she asked. “Two sisters and two brothers.” “Five of you!” “Yes, and being the eldest I took an active role in the upbringing of my siblings. I had much to prepare me for the day when I start a family of my own.” Amelia had led a lonely life. She had long dreamed of having her own family, of having a house full of children, just as she had dreamed of having brothers and sisters when she was younger. She wondered what sort of father Quinn would be. “Did you quarrel with your brothers and sisters?” she questioned. “Oh, yes!” he grinned. “One of the most dastardly crimes against me occurred when I was ten. My brother James, between Jon and I in age, watched as I stashed a scarf filled with fresh berries in the hollow of a tree. When I returned for them, they were gone. I thought a squirrel or possum had gobbled the berries. But a little later when I ran into James and his berry-stained face I knew better. I had just begun

thrashing him when my father came along and licked us both with a switch.” “You both deserved punishment, did you not? James for taking what was yours and you for thrashing him. No one ever touched what was mine,” she added with a forced smile. “And you probably had many lovely possessions. “Yes, possessions,” she repeated dully. “But what of you? With so many mouths to feed, was your family poor?” “Farmers always have food. We had clothes on our back and more importantly we had love.” At that moment Amelia envied her heathen captor. She had been searching all her life for love. Except for Granny Nell, who cared for Amelia in her own fashion, Amelia had not experienced love. Not from parents or relations and certainly not from a man. Love remained a mystery. Obviously uncomfortable, Quinn cleared his throat. “It is unfortunate that you missed having a family, Amelia, but you have one now.” “A family made of Patriots and Loyalists?” she scoffed, pushing the pain of her lonely childhood away. This new, odd family Quinn referred to was

hardly the family Amelia had longed for. “Yes. There are more such families made up of Patriots and Loyalists than you would think. This war has divided many families, many a father and son. Benjamin Franklin is a leading Patriot, but his son remains loyal to the crown. I suspect though Franklin dislikes William’s politics, he loves his son still.” “I cannot fathom it,” she said, opening the palm of her hand to contemplate the thin gold band. “No one can fathom what love can make possible,” Quinn acknowledged. He took the ring from her hand. “I will put this on your finger only one more time, Amelia ...” His voice trailed off. “What is it?” “There appears to be an inscription. I did not notice before.” She took the ring and attempted to read the engraving on the inner band of the ring. “It is one word. I am not certain—” “Beloved.” “What?” “That is the inscription,” he said, taking the ring from her. “Beloved.” Amelia watched as Quinn slipped the gold band

back on her finger. Beloved. The clock on the dressing table ticked loudly and the candles sputtered, caught in a gust of cool evening air. Quinn stood up. He was at a loss to understand what it was about Amelia that played havoc with his mind…and his heart. One minute he was angry beyond reason with her, and the next he felt an overwhelming compassion for the stubborn girl. The unbidden desire to hold and comfort Amelia warred with his obligation to execute his mission without entanglements. Amelia raised her gaze to meet his. “Your mother was a fortunate woman,” she said softly. There was no envy or bitterness in her voice, but the yearning reflected in her eyes tugged at Quinn’s heart. “My father loved her very much. They loved each other equally, and with great kindness and laughter.” “Is that how you will love a woman?” The only woman he cared to love at this moment was Amelia. Quinn could ill afford to linger a moment longer in the still seductiveness of Amelia’s bedchamber. Its quiet, pastel intimacy had become strangely

threatening. Another gust of wind blew the lace curtains. The candles flickered and dimmed before their blue-white flames steadied. Nodding abruptly in answer to her question, Quinn took two hurried strides to the door. From the safe distance of the doorway, he stopped and looked back at his harridan bride. She appeared quite demure for the moment. Quiet and lovely, just like the woman he’d dreamed of making his one day. He’d tasted her lips. He knew and craved their sweet honey flavor. The heat of desire slowly spread through his loins as his gaze fell to her heart-shaped face. A blush of pink stained her cheeks. He knew her delicate ivory skin would feel like satin to his touch. As he studied his prisoner anew, Quinn felt an urgent need to thread his fingers through her mass of golden ringlets, to feel their softness. Mounting desire curled through him like a smoldering fire. If he had no conscience, he would take Amelia now. He would thoroughly demonstrate to her how a man loves a woman. Quinn rationalized that he deserved the sweet

rewards of Amelia’s body for the constant trouble she caused him. And he was well aware that she had expected him to come to her bed and consummate their marriage. For all he knew, she desired him as well, but her stubbornness would never allow her to admit it. His scrutiny had disturbed her. Amelia tilted her head in a questioning manner as she regarded him with a worried frown. A dull gray shadow of sorrow veiled her eyes. Sorrow he knew she did not want him to see. Quinn spoke in deep, gruff tones. “Tomorrow you shall accompany me to Fort Saint Mark. We will be paying a visit to my brother, Jon.” He quickly closed the door behind him. The creature had bewitched him. Amelia posed more danger to him than even she suspected. She spurred him to new resolve. He had to act quickly before it was too late.

Chapter 9 “Why me?” Amelia demanded the following

morning, holding a squirming Sophie Too in her arms. “Why must I accompany you?” “Because Mary is not here to serve as your companion,” Quinn explained, adding with a quirk of his lips, “and I long for your company.” “You mean Mary is not here to stand guard over me.” Amelia had attempted to convince her rebel captor the injury to her ankle had left her unable to walk. Therefore, she could not possibly accompany him to Fort Saint Mark, nor flee if left alone at home. She had not succeeded. “Interpret my actions any way you choose.” “You have no qualms about leaving Grandmother — “Granny Nell does not attempt to escape each time I turn my head,” he interrupted impatiently. “It is no use, Amelia. Leave off arguing and let us be on our way.” His rock solid stance and the hard set of his jaw gave her no hope of changing his mind. There was little to be gained by further protests. “Jail is no place for a lady,” she snipped, unable to resist having the last word.

She was disappointed to find no carriage waiting to convey them to the fort. Though it was not a long walk, Amelia missed the conveniences she had known before Quinn had stolen her from what she now recognized as a comfortable, privileged life. With her hand tucked in his arm, holding her head high, she walked woodenly, looking neither to the left nor the right. But her eyes flitted longingly to the ships in the bay, knowing there must be one that would sail to Savannah soon. She would give all she possessed to be on one of those vessels. After last night’s debacle, Amelia had come to the conclusion she must set aside thoughts of escape for the time being and concentrate on learning all she could of Quinn and his activities. Unless a no-fail opportunity for her to break away presented itself, she would serve England by providing more than enough information to hang Quinn. “Where has Mary gone?” she asked, hoping to sound as if she were only making idle conversation. “She is making a brief visit to some friends. No need to tax your head with the details.” “When will she return?”

“Soon.” The-morning sun warmed the cool October breeze that swept from the northeast across the bay. If this were nothing more than a leisurely stroll, Amelia might find some pleasure in the weather. The wind rustled through the fronds of the tall palms, and small puffs of clouds, like white smoke, drifted against an azure sky. With her free hand, Amelia held steady the flapping brim of her straw hat. The ever-present flavor of salt permeated the air, which for a refreshing change lacked the cloying humidity that she was becoming accustomed to breathing. “It’s a fine day, is it not?” Quinn remarked. “Each day will be a bit cooler from now on.” “How do you know?” She could not help challenging Quinn at each turn. He grinned and patted the hand that lay in the crook of his elbow. “A little bird flying from the north to winter here told me.” Amelia sighed. She was getting nowhere. Her steps slowed as they climbed the grassy knoll which led to the entrance of Fort Saint Mark, but Quinn’s pace did not slow to accommodate her.

“Do not drag your feet. There is nothing to fear.” Upon showing his letter of passage from the governor, Quinn and Amelia were escorted over the drawbridge into the interior courtyard of the fort. The filthy moat which surrounded the formidable structure added to the insurmountable odds of prisoners escaping or an enemy taking the fort by land. Heavy, open-mouthed cannons rested on parapets. Some were aimed at the entrance to the fort, and others on the inlet and harbor. The courtyard was piled with building materials and half-clad workers were busily engaged in construction within the hive of windowless rooms which faced the sandy open area. “It appears they are preparing to house more troops here,” Quinn stated quietly, talking more to himself than Amelia. They were led to a small, dank cell which served as a meeting place. Four crude chairs and a plank table sat on the dirt floor. A foreboding chill gripped the air. Quinn held a chair and gestured for Amelia to sit. “I think I would rather stand.”

His low growl and a dark frown convinced her otherwise. Reluctantly, she sat. She waited in silence with him until after some minutes the soldier who had escorted them returned with a tall young man. As Amelia’s eyes fixed on Jon, she heard the hollow clank of a key turning, confining her in the small cell with Quinn and his brother. Her eyes darted to the heavy wooden door. She might be Quinn’s prisoner but she was not subjected to walls of rock, and chilling darkness. A thin shard of sunlight streamed through a barred open space too small to be called a window. For a long, tense moment Quinn and Jon only stared at each other. Slowly, almost simultaneously the corners of their mouths turned up into happy smiles. One step, the brothers laughing now, closed the gap between them and they embraced heartily. The affection they shared filled the room and tugged at Amelia’s heart. She lowered her eyes in a vain effort to make herself invisible and afford the brothers what little privacy was available. Jon was not quite as handsome or tall as Quinn. He possessed a full beard, and the same dark head

of hair as his brother, although long and tangled from weeks of neglect. From the manner in which his ragged clothes hung, he had lost a good deal of weight from what once must have been a sturdy frame. Barefoot, his feet were dirty and scarred. Jon slapped Quinn on the hack as he stepped back and examined his older sibling. “I knew you would come for me. And what a sight you are! Can I believe my eyes?” “Believe your eyes, Jon.” Quinn replied, with a broad grin. “I came as quickly as possible.” The young man nodded, his brown eyes sparkling. “What have you arranged?” he asked, excitedly. Quinn raised his hands as if warding off an impending cyclone. “In time. First, I’d like you to meet Amelia, my wife.” “Your wife!” Jon exclaimed. His head snapped toward the table where Amelia sat barely breathing. Jon’s eyes widened as he took her in. “But I thought you --” “How could I resist her charms, brother?” Quinn interrupted coolly, his eyes fixed a cold warning on his sibling. “See for yourself those beautiful blue

eyes and golden curls. And when Amelia smiles, the sun bows its head in shame. She could bewitch the most hard-hearted man.” Amelia forced a smile, doubting the sun would feel in any way threatened. Giving her a rakish wink, Quinn’s brother boldly scrutinized his new sister-in-law. “Amelia is recently arrived from Great Britain,” Quinn continued. “As a loving husband I was forced to think of her safety first and so brought her straightaway to Saint Augustine from her family’s rice plantation in Savannah.” He ended his explanation with a wry smile. Amelia sensed Jon did not fail to understand his brother’s meaning. He nodded. She bridled. Quinn used her coldly. Freshly humiliated, she bit her tongue to prevent herself from unleashing the true story. She had survived being kidnapped, being torn from her betrothed, enduring a forced marriage, and surviving an arduous, hazardous journey. Jon bowed slightly. “I am happy to know you, sister.” Amelia looked up into his eyes which gleamed

speculatively. His eyes did not condemn her. Instead she saw a conflicting blend of amusement and compassion reflected there. “And I am glad to make your acquaintance, Jon. It is unfortunate we cannot meet under happier circumstances.” “Indeed,” he remarked drily. “We have not much time, Jon,” Quinn told him, motioning to the chairs. “How long have you been here?” “Four months, two days, and fourteen hours,” Jon declared with a mischievous grin as they sat. “Not that I have been counting.” “Are you being treated well?” “They mock us constantly, marching us through the courtyard with fife and drum playing ‘Yankee Doodle,’ “Jon grumbled. “But on the whole they treat us as well as I could expect the British to do,” he glanced over at Amelia. “Begging your pardon, sister.” Mustering as much dignity as possible, Amelia nodded, but Jon had turned away, his full attention directed to Quinn. As the brothers quietly talked in a

rushed exchange of personal information, Amelia examined her heart. She did not care for her first real glimpse of war. Why did the North Americans refuse to obey the king? Since she had no answer, she strained to hear the Hallet brothers’ conversation. “How did this happen, Jon?” “Chief Cow Keeper and his men caught me on the border and brought me in down here. I was doing some reconnaissance, and they were stealing cattle. The British not only have Hessians and Swiss against us, but the Seminole Indians as well,” he said with some disgust. “Yes, there are mercenaries everywhere in the city,” Quinn agreed. “But we will prevail nevertheless.” “I hope you’re right,” Jon muttered before he leaned closer to Quinn. His tone took on the edge of urgency. “How do you plan to free me from this place?” Quinn grinned. “You shall walk out with me.” “What?” “It is well known that there are many divided families such as ours, Jon,” Quinn said, leaning back

in his chair. “I am a Loyalist now by marriage, and you may be freed to my custody.” Frowning, Jon shook his head. “It cannot be that simple.” “But it is. You simply sign the document pledging you will make no attempt to escape--” Jon rose with such force that his chair toppled over behind him and startled Amelia so much that she jumped. “Never!” he bellowed. “How can you ask me to commit such a traitorous act?” “Because you are of no use to the revolution locked away in here,” Quinn replied calmly. Jon shot an aggravated glance to Amelia that seemed to blame her for his predicament. “Think on it, brother,” Quinn reasoned. “There is much for you to do. Once you are walking the streets, we will make our return to Maryland so that you may see action again.” “I don’t like it,” Jon scowled, picking up his chair and tossing it across the cell. Amelia jumped again. Quinn’s brother was a hotheaded young man. “There must be another way,” he insisted. “You must curb your temper,” Quinn scolded,

standing. “You will like it well enough once you have shoes on your feet again and clothes to keep you warm on cold nights. You will appreciate our plans when you are holding a weapon once again.” Jon lowered his head into his hands. “Is there no other way?” “No.” Jon raised his head. He gazed at Amelia for a moment and then smiled warmly. His anger and despair were apparently forgotten. “You must think me ill-mannered. I beg your pardon. Confinement does strange things to a man. I will look forward to making your acquaintance once I am let loose from this place.” “I understand.” He inclined his head and gave her a wry smile. “You have done a thing I never expected another woman to do, for whatever reason.” Puzzled, Amelia smiled hesitantly. “And what is that?” “You have taken my brother.” “I fear you are mistaken. It was quite the other way around. He took me.” At that, both the brothers laughed, which angered

Amelia. “She was engaged to another, but I did so need a British bride,” Quinn explained to Jon. “As it happened, Amelia found herself quite unable to resist my charms.” “Amelia, I am sure you will come to admire my brother in time. All the ladies fall in love with Quinn,” Jon grinned. “But I do sympathize with your position and will always be grateful for your sacrifice.” He then took her hand and brushed it with his lips. Amelia rose. Jon Hallet at least possessed civil manners and appreciation for what she was enduring thanks to Quinn’s masquerade. “I do not like to see any man imprisoned in conditions such as this. I hope you shall be released soon.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “Please call me Amelia.” Quinn slipped some pound notes into Jon’s palm. “Perhaps these few pounds will stand you in good stead.” “I am heartened to see you have retained your riches,” Jon remarked, adding with a sly grin, “and still do not hesitate to share the wealth.”

Amelia’s eyes darted to Quinn. His placid expression did nothing to clear her confusion. Was her heathen husband a wealthy man? Why would he pilfer from her father’s plantation if he was financially well put? “I will bring you fresh clothes and shoes and advise the governor you are ready to sign his loyalty pledge.” “I would not sign for anyone but you, Quinn.” At the sound of the key in the lock, Quinn turned to the door. “It is time for us to go, Jon. Have patience and do not lose your temper,” he cautioned. “You will be released soon.” Jon nodded none too happily and Amelia realized the brooding young man was still just a boy. His manly physique had misled her. “I look forward to seeing you again soon, Jon,” Amelia offered as Quinn steered her toward the door. “And, I you,” he answered cheerfully. But when Amelia looked back, Jon stood staring at his dirty bare feet, scratching his thick black beard like a lost soul, like a man condemned to another

day in a cell. Quinn did not spare a backward glance as they were escorted out of the fort. He had needed more time with Jon, required information that only Jon possessed. Though his strides were sure and swift, Quinn left the fort reluctantly. Amelia was relieved to be leaving and basked in the warmth of the sun, turning her face to its soothing rays. But she could not easily forget the volatile young man they’d left behind. “You must bring Jon shoes as soon as possible,” she said with concern as they crossed over the drawbridge. “I intend to do just that. Did you like my brother?” “He has pleasing manners, but appears to have a short temper.” Quinn laughed. “It is his youth. He is only twenty years old and has fire in his blood. He has not yet learned restraint.” “And where is your brother James? Does he also have fire in his blood?” Quinn cast Amelia a cautious sidelong glance. “I am not certain.” Did her Patriot husband suspect the reason she

had begun to ask so many questions? Not daring to press further, Amelia diverted her attention to the plaza as they approached. She had not desired to be in Saint Augustine, but if she were to be truthful she would have to own the city as quite charming. If her Sir Basil were with her, she would not be as eager to leave. The burgeoning, bustling town offered more than the endless, quiet lassitude of plantation life. She wondered if Basil would come to her rescue just as Quinn had come for Jon. Quinn had not bothered to cover their trail. The arrogant rebel interrupted her thoughts. “Sweet thing, I have arranged a surprise I hope will please you.” Amelia’s stomach gave a little lurch as she met his remarkable twinkling eyes. “Surprise?” “This afternoon Hyacinth Smith is coming to work for us. She will lighten your load while Mary is away. And save us from starvation,” he added drolly. Did she dare to hope? “Is Hyacinth a servant?” “Consider her a new member of our family. I am paying her well to help with the washing, cooking,

and cleaning.” “And what will you have me do?” Amelia asked suspiciously. This news was far too good to be true. “What would you like to do?” he countered with a crooked smile that caused her heart to beat uncommonly fast. “I will think on it,” she promised, tearing her gaze from the sparkle in Quinn’s eyes. Amelia thought it strange how every now and then, out of a clear blue sky, she would be struck by Quinn’s commanding presence. Her heartbeat would accelerate and she would feel a rush of lightheadedness. It happened more and more frequently, caused by nothing tangible to which she could point a finger. “Hyacinth will be living with us,” he told her. “She’ll be sleeping in the small chamber downstairs. I will stay in Mary’s room until she returns. But then, you should know, I will be returning to your bed. Something for you to anticipate, I expect,” he chuckled. Amelia pressed her lips together, determined not to respond. Jon had indicated his brother was a

womanizer which did not take her altogether by surprise. She had no doubt Quinn would take advantage of any woman drawn by his grand physique and the teeming virility that seemed always to sizzle just beneath his skin. But Saint Augustine would sink into the sea before Amelia welcomed him to her bed. **** Hyacinth’s help proved invaluable to Amelia. The young girl was short and plump. Her round brown eyes, fringed with curling black lashes, were set against deep chocolate skin. At sixteen she could still be considered a child, but a hard life had matured her early. The evening of Governor Tonyn’s dinner party, Hyacinth’s help was invaluable as Amelia and Nell prepared for their debut into Saint Augustine society. Nell was thrilled at the prospect of an evening of socializing. Amelia’s thoughts were reconciled to making new acquaintances, new contacts to freedom. She stood ready just after dark, studying her reflection in the looking glass. Hyacinth had dressed Amelia’s hair simply, sweeping the mass back to a

cascade of shining spiral curls. Loose sandy tendrils dangled by her ears. She wore a blue silk dress, the soft pastel the shade of a robin’s egg. Both the overskirt, which gathered in large folds at her knee, and the underskirt were adorned with matching ruching. Layers of stiff petticoats held the skirts full and wide. Delicate ruffles at the sleeves were turned back and from these flowed three layers of exquisite white lace. Edged with the same fine lace, the square bodice fit snugly, offering a glimpse of cleavage. It had been so long since she had dressed for a social event Amelia felt like a princess, and she blessed the talented Saint Augustine dressmaker. Despite Mary’s protests, several gowns had been made for each of them. “Amelia, dear, may I come in?” Nell asked, entering in a swirl of silver and gray before Amelia could reply. “Oh, you shall turn every eye,” she declared. “Thank you, Grandmother, but you would say so on any account. You look grand as well.” Nell executed an unlikely pirouette, displaying her dove gray taffeta gown in a rustle of delight. Her hair

glistened silver above sparkling blue eyes and rosy rouged cheeks. In less than six hours she had undergone an astonishing transformation. “Hyacinth was so helpful,” she exclaimed. “What is that you have in your hand, Grandmother?” “Quinn said you were to wear these tonight,” she said, placing the slim leather box in Amelia’s hands. Inside glistened a perfect pearl necklace and matching pearl drop earrings. Speechless, Amelia gazed at the exquisite ensemble. Jon had alluded to Quinn being a man of wealth. Could it be possible? “Lovely,” Nell murmured. “They will complement your gown perfectly. Your husband has excellent taste.” Amelia swallowed the knot that had lodged in her throat. “Yes. But I am certain they are on loan for this evening only.” “Let me help you fasten them.” In a matter of minutes the women descended the stairs, eagerly anticipating their first social event in many weeks. Quinn waited at the bottom of the steps, his eyes on Amelia only. She floated toward him as if out of a

dream, a breathtaking vision in blue. A soft, uncertain smile played at the corners of her mouth. His gift of pearls caressed her long, slender throat, their translucent elegance lost to her ravishing beauty. Quinn’s heart slammed against his chest. A burning ache started in his loins and spread through his veins as Amelia came closer. He breathed her in, savoring the sweet fragrance of roses that enveloped her. Suppressing the urge to take her in his arms, instead he willed his racing heart to calm. Time seemed to stand still. Oppression and war did not exist. Poverty and illness were banished. The burdens of life disappeared. At once the world was a beautiful place. Held spellbound by her enemy husband, it seemed to Amelia as if a hundred steps lay between them. Dressed in a swallowtail coat of striped forestgreen taffeta, embroidered white waistcoat, lace neck cloth, and dark-green velvet breeches, Quinn was magnificent. His white silk stockings stretched tightly over muscled legs, disappearing into black

shoes with polished silver buckles. Amelia’s eyes flitted back to his broad shoulders and up to his coal black hair combed back and tied neatly with a black ribbon at the nape of his neck. Her marveling gaze came to rest on his eyes—which were still locked on hers. “Have I passed inspection?” he asked. She could only nod, instantly lost in the admiring gleam of his emerald eyes. Her knees trembled beneath her as Amelia silently cursed Quinn for his great looks. “You are a vision, sweet thing,” he whispered, taking her hand. “A beautiful vision. Any man would be proud to call you his wife.” An alarming bolt of heat careened through Amelia. She felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. Bowing her head slightly, she felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and a surge of deep warm pleasure flowed through her. “Thank you, Quinn.” “And you, Granny Nell, are beautiful. Why have you been hiding your beauty?” “Oh, go on with you,” she protested with a broad pleased smile. “I have hired a carriage for the occasion. Let us

be on our way.” **** They did not have far to travel and soon reached a rambling Spanish style villa on the northern edge of the city. Quinn assisted Nell from the carriage and then held his hand out for Amelia. Once on the ground, he wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered a subtle warning in her ear. “Remember, sweet thing, appearances are everything.” Governor Tonyn greeted them with jovial warmth, ushering them into a large, formal parlor. In short order they were introduced to the small gathering. John Rush, owner of an indigo plantation on the Saint Johns River, was with his wife Caroline and daughter Elizabeth. Elizabeth, a pretty girl of seventeen, was instantly taken with Quinn. Wallace Beresford was a portly English aristocrat with investment interests who showed a lively interest in Nell. To Amelia’s amazement, her grandmother responded to Beresford’s attention in a coy, flirtatious fashion. William Collins, proprietor of the general store, hovered protectively about his new bride, Anne.

Evidently Quinn had made himself known to all but the Rush’s daughter Elizabeth at various times before the dinner party, Amelia noted. As the introductions were made, he engaged in light, familiar banter with each of the assembled guests. The elegant parlor was ablaze with candlelight. Swags of burgundy velvet hung above the long narrow windows, and a handsome sofa in the same fabric was set among cherry Queen Anne chairs. A warming fire crackled in the fireplace as a free man passed among the guests serving a sweet sherry. Amelia was taken with Dr. Yeats and his wife Molly as soon as they met. Molly Yeats, stout and straightforward, made a whispered apology to Amelia, “’Tis a shame the governor’s wife was unable to join us tonight.” “Yes, but I look forward to meeting her soon.” Placing her painted fan to the side of her mouth, Molly lowered her voice conspiratorially. “It is her way.” Amelia soon discovered the unpopular governor’s wife had quickly gained a reputation as aloof, unreliable, and ill-humored. When Molly was called away, Dr. Yeats

immediately appeared by Amelia’s side. “Tell me, how do you like our city?” he inquired. Before she could answer, he went on with a wave of his hand. “We have lured plantation owners from Virginia and Carolina to start new plantations, and now here you come from Georgia. There is a profitable and pleasant future to be found in Saint Augustine as I have been telling your husband.” “Your city is charming, sir, but I am puzzled how you manage to remain untouched by the rebellion to the north.” At this Quinn’s head jerked from his conversation with the rather amply endowed and constantly fawning Elizabeth - not that Amelia could be made jealous by such a young simpering thing. She could have the arrogant rebel. “Our East Florida Rangers keep the insurgents at bay by patrolling the Georgia Border. Fort Saint Mark has discouraged all attacks from either land or sea as it has since the time it was constructed. No need to worry your pretty head, my dear, you are safe here.” Under Quinn’s watchful eye, Amelia could only

give the well-meaning doctor a weak smile. Noting Quinn’s attention to their conversation, Yeats directed his next question to him. “Have you visited the indigo plantation I recommended?” Again the good doctor did not wait for an answer, rushing on to make his point. “Indigo crystals are in great demand in Great Britain, you know, and the crops are profitable.” “I plan to ride out to inspect the plantation within the week.” “Good.” Dr. Yeats slapped Quinn on the back and begging his apology moved on. Throughout the evening, Amelia contrived and failed to find time alone with Governor Tonyn. Quinn seemed always to be at her side, his warm hand at the small of her back, an unnerving reminder. Just before dinner was to be served, Amelia’s attention was diverted to a late arrival. Dressed in black, the newcomer stood in the doorway surveying the gathering with a distant eye. Stooped shouldered, the man’s small, angular frame hunched forward, reminding Amelia of a vulture tracking his prey. When his black gaze came to rest on her, she felt an aversion she seldom

experienced and quickly lowered her eyes. She did not have long to wonder who he was. In a matter of minutes Quinn introduced him. “Luciano de Herrera, my wife Amelia.” “Senora, you are most beautiful.” “You are too kind,” she replied politely. The same height as Amelia, Luciano met her eyes in a steady level gaze. “Before tonight and stunned by your beauty, Mrs. Hallet, I could think of only one reason why Quinn Hallet would have an English wife.” The Spaniard’s eyes were dull, his English laced with a heavy accent. “What was that, sir?” “To act as decoy, a clever subterfuge for a rebel agent.” A chill skittered down Amelia’s spine. Quinn chuckled, “You have an active imagination, Luciano.” “Is that what you think, Mrs. Mallet?”

Chapter 10

Unflinchingly, Amelia returned the Spaniard’s piercing scrutiny. She trusted Luciano de Herrera less than she trusted Quinn Hallet. Her woman’s intuition warned her that the dark, olive-skinned man posed a threat to both her and her proud revolutionary husband. “Preposterous. My husband proves his devotion daily, Senor de Herrera. Quinn is quite busy keeping me happy.” She lowered her head and batted her lashes to emphasize her meaning. “He has no time for foolish spy games.” Luciano’s smile seemed more a sneer. As soon as she had spoken the words, Amelia expected to be struck dumb for defending Quinn Hallet. She had protected her traitor husband with a terrible lie. And she couldn’t explain why she’d done it. A dank cell in Fort Saint Mark until she shriveled and died was too good for her. Quinn’s arm snaked around her waist, and he drew her close to his side. “Sweet thing, I could not have said it better. Shall we dance?” **** Nell chattered about her new acquaintance,

Wallace Beresford all the way home. Amelia hardly heard a word. She was conscious only of Quinn’s body brushing against hers as the horse-drawn carriage crawled slowly down the narrow streets. Each time his body grazed hers, a river of heat ignited deep within her. Despite the cool breeze blowing in from the bay, she grew warmer and warmer. Amelia suspected her discomfort had something to do with the wine she had consumed during the course of the evening. She felt profound relief when the carriage at last pulled up in front of the house. Quinn jumped out and extended his hand to her with a quick quirk of his lips. With a toss of her head, Amelia sailed through the courtyard and into the house where she expected to find Mary waiting. But only a lantern left by Hyacinth burned for them in the indoor kitchen. Quinn followed Amelia into the front parlor. “I expect Mary has returned,” he said before taking the stairs two at a time obviously in search of her. He came back down frowning. “She’s not here. She’s not come home.”

“Perhaps Mary was having such a good visit she decided to stay longer,” Amelia ventured. She hoped whatever had detained Mary was not serious for she’d grown fond of the quiet, capable girl. “Unlike a party who shall remain unnamed, but who dwells in this household, Mary always does as she is expected,” Quinn replied. “She was supposed to return this evening. And she will. I am sure of it.” “Mary is very responsible,” Amelia allowed. “I shall wait up for her.” “Very well.” Amelia started to leave the room but the patriot’s gaze held her. “Thank you for what you did tonight,” he said softly. “For coming to may defense with de Herrera. I did not expect it.” “The wine must have overcome my senses.” He gave her a crooked smile before turning and striding back to the open door. With Mary’s expected return to the household, this was the night Quinn was to come back to her bed and begin sleeping with Amelia again. She did not understand her feeling of disappointment that he would stand watch for Mary instead. She should be thrilled. But she was not. Whirling on her heel, she

marched upstairs to her bedchamber. Her bed felt cold and she lay wide awake listening for sounds from down below. But all was quiet. What did Mary mean to Quinn? It was obvious he was terribly worried about her. Was Mary more than another spy? Could the quiet girl be his lover or mistress? In retrospect, it seemed likely. Amelia had witnessed their affectionate glances and it was evident they knew each other very well. Amelia’s list slammed down on the bed beside her. Of course! Why had she not seen it before? No wonder Quinn was so loath to marry her and why he treated her with such indifference. Mary was his true love. Petite Mary with her beautiful black hair and ebony eyes. She doted on Quinn’s every word. She obeyed him unquestioningly, flattering his inflated ego and reinforcing his arrogance. She provided for his every need from preparing the food on his table to laundering his shirts. Well, Mary could have Quinn. Amelia certainly wanted no part of the man. Mary would have to deal with the sensations

aroused when she was crushed against Quinn’s granite body, when she tasted the salt of his sensuous lips. She was the one who must learn to appear nonchalant while locked in his searing gaze. Mary must become accustomed to feeling her heart melt when he smiled. Poor Mary, the woman was to be pitied! Amelia propped herself up on the bed and strained for the sound of voices, but tree crickets and toads were the only sounds that broke the silence. **** The night was pitch black. Only a few stars sprinkled the sky as Quinn waited alone with mounting apprehension. Mary should have been back hours ago. He never should have let her go on this mission; it was too dangerous and in unknown territory. What if she’d been captured? Worse, if she’d been hurt, he never would forgive himself. Bent on avenging her dead husband’s murder, Mary had begged Quinn to let her go. He paced the courtyard furious at himself. He knew better than to make decisions based on emotions. And lately no matter what he did he could not seem to rid himself

of his emotions. Amelia had been even more beautiful tonight. And she’d defended him, protected him. Tonight more than ever he’d been tempted to take her in his arms and conveniently suffer a loss of memory. But for how long could he forget the beauty was a Loyalist and simply regard her as an impulsive, spirited young woman? How could he ever have believed she was slow witted? Her eyes sparkled with intelligence. Her quick wit made him smile more often than naught. Her questions belied a doltish understanding. He now understood with the utmost certainty that Amelia’s lapses into a vacuous girl had been simply a scheme to deceive him. The minutes slipped into hours as Quinn paced the courtyard waiting for Mary to return. The coffee he brewed was strong and thick. It was the only thing keeping him awake as he watched the sun rise and filter through the olive trees and the barren branches of the oak. At last the plodding sound of a slow-moving horse clip-clopping down the street cut through his weariness. He rushed to the gate. Relief washed

through him like a warm summer shower. Mary drove a small wagon. Hunched over, a large woolen plaid scarf wrapped protectively around her head and shoulders. Quinn strode to the side of the wagon and grabbed the reins. “Sick ... I am so sick.” Mary held out a trembling hand. “You will be well soon,” he assured her as he tenderly gathered her in his arms and carried her into the courtyard. Amelia stood in the doorway. “What is wrong?” “Mary is ill, can you not see that?” he snapped. “What can I do? How can I help?” “Fetch some cool water and send Hyacinth up,” Quinn ordered curtly, his gaze never leaving Mary who moaned faintly as he started up the stairs. Stung by his sharp tongue, Amelia did as she was told. Quinn had no thought or care for anyone but Mary now. More than once since she’d started on this journey it had been made clear to Amelia that she possessed no practical skills but this was the first time she felt disturbed by her shortcomings.

With Hyacinth busy in the sickroom, Amelia prepared tea. She’d heard the soothing beverage nearly always made people feel better when they were ill. Theoretically, Mary was just as much her enemy as Quinn. But she cared for Mary. Her heart went out to the young widow. Though she’d tried from the beginning, Amelia could not think of Mary as the enemy. Nell was delighted to see the pot of tea when she bustled into the dining room. “How clever of you, dear.” “It is not difficult to make tea, Grandmother.” “Well, I know that I have never done so. But I have observed that each generation becomes more daring.” Amelia found it difficult to concentrate on her grandmother. Even her playful kitten could not distract her for long. Her thoughts were with Mary. If she were truly daring, she would demand to be let into the sickroom. “Are you ill, dear? You do not look quite the thing.” Nell said, inclining her head. “You appear rather distressed, you do. And you are up so early

this morning.” “As you are also.” “That is because I must make myself ready for Sir Beresford. He is calling on me this morning to take me out in his carriage.” Amelia suppressed her surprise and forced a smile. “Well, I am happy for you.” “Thank you, dear. But if you are not well --” “Do not worry on my account. It is not me, but Mary who is ill.” “Poor dear! What ails her?” “I don’t know. Quinn and Hyacinth are with her.” Amelia agonized. The time passed slowly and she had no idea of Mary’s condition. Quinn remained with her but at mid-morning, he sent Hyacinth for Dr. Yeats. Amelia considered the opportunity for escape ripe. But in all good conscience she knew she could not leave Mary at such a time. She wished to be of service to her only friend and so she paced and wrung her hands. Until her pacing was interrupted by the gate bell. She ran to open it. Wallace Beresford, as wide as he was tall, followed her into the parlor. The tip of his bulbous

nose was a bright pink, and his jowls wore a permanent blush as well. His yellowed hair was sparse on the top but clipped about the base of his round head. Amelia was certain the extra middle girth he carried was an abundance of cheer that sprung directly from his ample stomach to his twinkling eyes. The entire time that Hyacinth was gone to fetch the good doctor, Amelia spent in the company of her grandmother and her suitor. They did not leave for their ride until long after Hyacinth had returned. What should have been a grand opportunity for escape still eluded Amelia. No sooner did the older couple leave than Dr. Yeats arrived and swiftly disappeared into the sick room. Hyacinth waited with Amelia as she paced the parlor waiting for the doctor’s report. Thirty minutes later, she heard his footsteps on the stairs. She rushed to greet the elderly white-haired man at the bottom of the stairs. “How is Mary?” “I fear she has the fever but she is young and strong and I believe she will overcome it in time.” “Is the fever contagious?” “Often, but not always.” He shook his head. “It is

one of the mysteries of medicine, my dear. There is much we doctors do not know.” “I see. Is there anything I can do?” He shrugged. “Keep her comfortable.” The doctor made his way to the door, but then stopped as if he had forgotten something. “At our gathering the other evening I spoke with your husband about the purchase of a sugar plantation. He has promised to come and look at the plantation soon. When Mary is feeling better I would beg your encouragement in this matter. Too many of the plantations have been dormant since the Spanish left, and there are great profits to be made. Quinn can become a rich man,” “I will tell him.” As if he would listen to anything she said. It angered her that Quinn could outsmart the city’s most clever men. Dr. Yeats thought Quinn a Loyalist and wise enough to become wealthy managing a sugar plantation. As she waved goodbye to the doctor, Amelia lost herself in a flash of fantasy. She and Quinn lived on a sugar plantation. He had become a doting husband, Amelia, lady of the manor. It was a splendid vision. They looked so right together.

She had the fever! To conjure such a scene in her mind obviously was the sign of great illness. “Amelia!” Quinn called for her. He sounded anxious, impatient. Sighing, Amelia locked the gate and returned to the house as the doctor’s carriage disappeared down the street. Quinn stood at the head of the stairs, a towering splendid figure. “Amelia! Did you not hear me call?” “Yes, but I was seeing the doctor on his way.” His eyes narrowed and his voice rumbled ominously. “Did you talk to Yeats?” “I questioned him about Mary’s illness.” He glowered at her. “I know you do not believe me. It matters not. I was prepared to ask for asylum, but he seems to hold you in the highest esteem. He would not believe my story, would he?” “No one will believe you. When will you resign yourself to being my bride, sweet thing?” “If you continue to hover over Mary and ignore me you will be the one to give away the lie of our ... our

situation.” At that the frown Quinn had been wearing since Mary’s return deepened into a scowl. “Do not try my patience now. It is not the time,” he warned. Amelia raised her head and haughtily sailed out into the courtyard. **** For two days she barely saw Quinn. He spent all of his time nursing Mary, time in which Amelia was torn with conflict. She did not want Mary to die, but she resented Quinn being with her for so long. As much as she hated to admit to it, Amelia knew she was behaving like the jealous women she had read about. She considered it completely unacceptable to be jealous of sweet, quiet Mary. What kind of horrid woman had she become? While thankful not to be exposed to the fever, she worried about Quinn. And that was foolish! Should he take the fever and die she would be free. Amelia passed her time taming the garden. She’d also begun teaching Hyacinth to read. Amelia was slightly bewildered at the warm glow of reward she experienced as Hyacinth progressed. Nell’s infatuation with Sir Beresford had an

unexpected side effect. She required less laudanum. And she constantly regaled Amelia with Wallace’s endearing qualities. Happy for her grandmother, Amelia nonetheless listened with a sense of melancholy. She had only her dreams of Sir Basil and what life would have been. Wed to Basil, she certainly would not have been tending her own garden or teaching a servant to read. On the third day following Mary’s return, Quinn came to Amelia in the garden. She rose slowly from her weeding to greet him, wary of what news might have brought him from the sickroom. His eyes were dull as moss, sunken, and circled with deep purple. His loose hair fell in haphazard disarray to his shoulders and a dark shadow of three days’ growth of beard covered his strong square jaw. “How is Mary today?” “She is burning with fever one moment and racked with chills another.” Amelia’s heart felt heavy as stone in her chest. “I am sorry. I had hoped to hear better news. You do not look well yourself.”

“I am only tired.” “Why do you not let me nurse Mary while you get some rest?” “Have you ever had the fever, Amelia?” “No.” “What if you were to become ill, too?” “I’m willing to take the risk for Mary’s sake.” “But not one I am willing to make.” She longed to ask the reason. Could he care for her in some small place in his heart? “Your loss would end my reason for being in Saint Augustine, Amelia.” He did not care if she died! Only that his spying would come to an end. “Of course,” she rasped, hurt and angry. Quinn picked a bright crimson hibiscus blossom that climbed the courtyard wall. “There is something you could do for me, Amelia.” “What is that?” she asked suspiciously. He grinned and slid the blossom behind her ear, catching it in the comb which held back her hair. His gentle touch was unexpected and caused her to flush. “You could always wear a flower in your hair.”

“I shall try and remember that.” He looked around and noticed the garden. “You are making vast improvements in our courtyard. You have a green thumb.” “I have discovered that I enjoy gardening.” “It is apparent,” he murmured. The air was cool, and the garden was a riot of color and sweet fragrances. Quinn hadn’t realized how much he missed seeing Amelia’s lovely face. It felt good to be out of the sickroom, breathe fresh air, and gaze upon his beautiful captive again. Was it his imagination or was she growing more beautiful each day? “When Mary is well, I will find you a gentle mare and teach you to ride as I promised.” “I would like that.” “Amelia, I have let Jon linger too long without word from us. I must entrust you to visit him today with a message.” He heard her suck in her breath. “You wish me to spy for you?” “No, Amelia, you will not be spying. The governor is drawing up Jon’s papers. He will be given them to

sign in a matter of days. That is all I wish you to tell him. It is something the governor himself would do, had he the time. You do not have to concern yourself about committing treason.” “Then I guess I could do that.” “You will take him some food that he may barter or consume.” “Yes.” Her luminous blue eyes took on an unnatural light. He knew she planned escape. “Hyacinth will accompany you to see that you do not go astray.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “You think of everything.” “In your case, I must.” Quinn grinned. He did not want to leave the garden and his beautiful captive bride. He enjoyed watching the language of her expressive, clear eyes. The elation, the wariness, the disappointment. And yes, this morning when he’d approached her, he’d seen concern reflected in her eyes. Amelia might at last be regarding him as a human being, a man, rather than simply a Patriot and the enemy. She had defended him to de Herrera after all.

He could only hope. Nodding his head curtly, he strode toward the house. “Prepare to leave for the fort.” **** As she dressed, Amelia wondered at the sudden change in Quinn and owed it to fatigue. He was plainly physically and emotionally exhausted from nursing Mary. She wondered if Sir Basil would give her the same loving care and attention if she were ill. Somehow she doubted it. Her care would be left to the servants. Shaking off her ugly thoughts, she resolved to turn this excursion to the fort to her advantage. Amelia set out at a swift pace, forcing Hyacinth to skip to keep up with her. Taking advantage of the time to reinforce Hyacinth’s reading lessons, Amelia asked the girl to recite the alphabet song as they hurried along Matanzas Bay. When they reached the town plaza, Amelia stopped. “Hyacinth, I wish to stop and visit some of the merchants.” “Yes, ma’am.” “Let it be our little secret, for Mr. Hallet does not

like me to shop. He says I shop too much. But I love it so. I love to look at the array of goods.” “Alone?” “Just this once. You can wait for me in the shade beneath the juniper tree.” Hyacinth frowned a bit but nodded her head in assent. Amelia crossed the sandy road and hurried into the swarming marketplace. As she wandered from merchant to merchant, she twisted off her wedding band. The simple ring would not bring her much she knew, but the ring and the dagger in her bag would put coins in her pocket. Knowing that Mary was on the mend, she felt no guilt contemplating a new escape plan. Amelia approached three merchants before she found one who would give her more than a few shillings. She left the marketplace with a trifling two pounds, a guilty conscience, and a heavy heart. Raising her eyes skyward, she looked for a stormy sky and the lightning that would surely strike her dead. Her third finger felt oddly bare, hut Amelia told herself she would soon be used to it. With Quinn

spending all of his time with Mary, he would not notice. **** A familiar gloom descended upon Amelia as she and Hyacinth approached the drawbridge to Fort Saint Mark. The fortress was forbidding and her imagination took flight. What if she were locked up in such a place? She raised her head and marched forward. As on her first visit, Amelia and Hyacinth were shown to a small, dark cell. The only light shone through a small barred window in the door. The coquina rock held the dampness from the ocean. The fort bustled with activity as some of the storerooms were converted to extra barracks. Second-floor lofts were under construction as sleeping quarters required by the many British, Hessian, and Swiss soldiers who were dispatched from England to the fourteenth colony. These were the troops who would soon be battling the rebellious colonies to the north. Amelia found small comfort in being surrounded by so many Red Coats. If her grandmother was not

back at home with Quinn, she would fall upon the mercy of the commandant here and now. “Amelia!” Jon greeted her with a wide smile and an improper hug that nearly smothered her. But she could not be angry with him. She found his informal manners endearing. “Do you fare well, Jon?” “Much better now that I am with my visitor. You are much more beautiful than Quinn,” he teased. And then as if they were guests in his drawing room, he held chairs for Amelia and Hyacinth. Amelia introduced her companion. “This is Hyacinth, who works for us. Quinn was sadly dismayed by my lack of household skills.” “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Hyacinth.” He gave a courteous bow. His eyes twinkled engagingly when he turned to Amelia. “Do not fret, dear sister-in-law, a charming woman like yourself does not require household skills.” “You are the one with charm.” “Why is my brother not with you today?” “He is tending Mary,” she said quietly. “She has the fever.”

Jon’s stricken face alarmed Amelia. “No! How does she do? When did this happen?” “She, she made a visit to a friend and returned with the fever. She has been ill these past four days.” “Mary does not deserve this.” Jon slammed his fist on the rough-hewn table. “She is so young and has borne too much. First, her husband is killed by the British, her home burned to the ground, and now this.” “I do not think the British gave Mary the fever,” Amelia offered gently. “If she were not here, she would not have caught the fever.” He shook his head. “My poor, poor sister.” “Sister?” Amelia’s heart felt as if it would leap from her chest. He nodded. “Sister. Do not tell me you did not know Mary was our sister?” “I had not thought about it,” Amelia lied. “I never asked.” “Mary is the youngest in our family. She is dear to us all.” “I am sure she will recover, Jon. Dr. Yeats told me himself that because she is young and strong her

chance of recovery is very good. And each day that passes gives hope.” “I have to see her. Do you know when I can be released?” “The governor is preparing the papers. It will only be a matter of days or hours. You will sign the agreement, then?” “It appears I have less choice than ever.” Amelia rose. “Quinn will be happy to hear that, as will Mary. I shall give them your message directly.” “Sister-in-law ...” “Yes?” Jon grasped Amelia’s hands in his. “You are just what Quinn needed to put aside his womanizing ways. I do not hold it against you that you were born in England. It is something you could not help. I am glad you are a member of our family now.” “Th…thank you, Jon. But I do not know if the rest of your family ever will be able to accept me with the same graciousness.” “Do not fear. Give them time. And remember, this war will be over someday. And what men do on the battlefield has nothing to do with what they do in the bedchamber. Hate dies a violent death; love grows

with love.” “You are not only charming, you are a poet.” He squeezed her hands. “I will see you in freedom soon.” Amelia reached up and kissed Jon softly on the cheek. “Soon. And do not worry over Mary. I know she shall be well.” **** The clouds had parted and the sun shone bright, bathing Amelia and Hyacinth in its warm rays as they left the fort. So, Mary was Quinn’s sister. Deep in thought, Amelia pulled her straw hat down to shade her eyes, but both her step and her heart were lighter crossing the drawbridge. Perhaps it had been a mistake to barter her wedding band. She might require the golden band for a longer time than she’d thought. “Hyacinth, we must stop once more at the marketplace. I have lost a piece of jewelry and I must have dropped it there.” The young girl’s soulful brown gaze expressed doubt.

“Yes, ma’am.” “And we will keep both my sojourns to the market this day a secret from Mr. Hallet. There are things women understand that men simply cannot. It is no use getting him in a dither over nothing when he is so concerned about his sister right now.” It felt so good to emphasize the word sister. Amelia’s heart was all aflutter although she barely understood the reason. In order to retrieve her wedding band, she was forced to turn over her two pounds plus several shillings from her marketing allowance. There was no sensible explanation for her actions, but when Amelia slipped her wedding band back on her finger, she felt a sense of solace that warmed her like the return of an absent friend. It was most perplexing. She rejected the idea that she had grown attached to her symbol of bondage. If she had thought her plan through in the first place, she would not have sold the ring. Surely there was something else she could part with that Quinn would not notice. Little by little she would find articles she could sell to earn shipboard passage back to Savannah.

Amelia did not see Quinn again that day. When Hyacinth carried the evening tray to the sickroom, Amelia sent word with her that Jon was agreeable and prepared to come home. **** It was late when Amelia retired for the evening. She had whiled away the empty hours trying to sort out her conflicting emotions, but try as she might she could arrive at no conclusions, no peace of mind. An unnamed struggle warred within her. She sat at her dressing table brushing her hair, dressed only in a fine chemise of lavender silk. She took long, languid strokes, gazing at her reflection in the looking glass. She appeared to be the same girl who arrived in Savannah from England four months ago. She wore the same smile on her lips, the same sandy blond curls fell to her shoulders, the same blue eyes looked back at her. But while her exterior appearance might remain the same, Amelia knew that deep within her, nothing was the same. Nothing at all. Amelia Anne Farnthorpe had undergone changes. When the door to her chamber opened, her arm

stopped in mid-stroke. Quinn stood on the threshold staring at her as if he were in a daze. She put her brush down, never taking her eyes from his image in the glass. Quietly, he closed the door behind him and slowly crossed the room. Her body tensed as she tried to read his inscrutable expression. He placed a hand on her shoulder. His thumb made lazy circles on her neck as he regarded her steadily in the mirror. The heat from his hand shot down Amelia’s spine, and the unmindful movement of his thumb provoked a prickly sensation that was at the same time disturbing and delicious. “Mary’s fever has broken.” Amelia let out a thankful breath, although she hadn’t realized she’d been holding it. She reached back to cover his hand. “I am so relieved, Quinn.” “Would you really care if another Patriot died, Amelia?” he asked flatly. “I would care if it were Mary. Certainly I would care. She has been good to me.” “Unlike me.” Yes, unlike you , she wanted to say. But the

words stuck in her throat so Amelia said nothing. Quinn sighed and drew in a deep, weary breath. “There is nothing I would like better than to show you how ... good I could be to you, and for you. Unfortunately I am too tired even to think.” Amelia watched as Quinn turned away and headed for her bed. He pulled off his boots before collapsing, fully dressed. She listened to the crickets, the toads, the breeze rustling through the trees, and finally the sound of his breathing, deep and rhythmic. There were choices. She could sleep on the bed beside Quinn, in the chair, or on the floor. She chose the bed. Her rebel husband slept so soundly there was little chance he would awaken before her. Carefully Amelia climbed into the bed. She studied Quinn as he slept and found it disconcerting that he exuded a potent virility even now, unshaven and unkempt. For reasons she could not explain, Amelia yearned to touch the dark stubble of beard. Her fingertips ached to explore beneath the open collar of his linen shirt. A sleeping green-eyed giant, he lay on his back. Quinn’s massive form left little space for her. Amelia

lay inches away, close enough to breathe in the leather and spice of him, to feel his power and heat. The rebel’s dark good looks were enhanced without the lines of tension normally etched upon his face. In sleep, he did not appear quite so fearsome a foe. Quinn, the spy who treated Nell with unfailing respect and kindness. The Patriot who had nursed his sister around the clock for over three days. The man who protected Amelia from the fever. Her husband. Carefully, so as not to waken him, Amelia reached over and gently brushed away the shock of raven hair which had fallen across Quinn’s forehead. Blowing out the bedside candle, Amelia settled back on her pillow. In a different time, in a different place perhaps, it would not be such a calamity to be Quinn Hallet’s wife. But such thoughts were treasonous. She must leave soon.

Chapter 11

Amelia knew she must make a successful escape. Saint Augustine life had become far too comfortable, and her feelings toward Quinn much too complicated. In unguarded moments she even imagined she might be in love with her husband. Her new, and most brilliant plan, would not involve or hurt innocent bystanders like Mary and Jon. Amelia schemed to stow away aboard the schooner, Shark. The ship was scheduled to depart just before sunset on that very day for Savannah. To implement her plan, Amelia had been reduced to thievery. It shamed her to her core, but wasn’t it said that all was fair in love and war? She had collected and altered in secrecy the items she needed and hidden them beneath her bed. While Mary recovered, Amelia had supervised the household. Hyacinth accompanied her to market daily. The young girl could now read and write her name, a source of great satisfaction to Amelia in her new role as teacher. Amelia had accepted the unfamiliar household responsibilities quite seriously, quickly becoming adept at bargaining with the merchants. She had

managed to secret away a number of shillings from the household budget that Quinn had not missed. Without even realizing it, her life had taken on a routine. Each day Amelia took a tray to Mary’s room and spent an hour or so in chatter, discussing neutral subjects, mostly fashion and food. She passed time each afternoon at the pianoforte with her grandmother. Nell had become a social butterfly since her meeting with Sir Wallace. Her grandmother appeared far happier here in Saint Augustine surrounded by British citizens than she had been on the isolated plantation of her son-in-law. She only asked for a bit of laudanum before retiring for the evening, a far cry from her previous demands. All in all, life was good. And that was unacceptable for Amelia, a Loyalist woman living with the enemy! Her rebel husband spent most days spying under the guise of investigating various plantations and properties for purchase. Every evening Amelia went to bed by herself. Although she heard him and felt the bed move when Quinn joined her, he was gone long before she woke

in the morning. The arrogant rebel had not yet deigned to touch her. What was it about her that he did not like she wondered? It was well known the male gender satisfied their lust without regard to appearance or politics. But apparently Amelia aroused no lust in Quinn. His disinterest both rankled Amelia and suited her purpose. Feelings that knotted her stomach and tangled her mind in confusion. But for the moment, the man who had brought Amelia to such a sad state was not at home. Quinn had gone to the fort to fetch Jon. She knew the brothers would have much to discuss. So if luck were with her, Amelia’s bid for freedom later in the day might go undetected for several hours. She had just removed the midday biscuits from the oven when Quinn and Jon burst through the door. Jon crushed her to him in a ferocious hug. Laughing, she pushed him back to have a better view of him. “You look wonderful!” And he did. His beard was gone. Clean-shaven, his boyish good looks were readily apparent. With

new clothes and boots on his feet, Quinn’s younger brother made quite a striking figure. “And you are the most beautiful woman. My brother does not deserve you. I will do my best to woo and win you away,” he declared with a wink, before bounding up the stairs to see Mary. Amelia knew she could become very fond of Jon ... if she were staying, if this were a real family. He was the brother she had always longed to have while growing up alone. “Mind you do not take a fancy to my brother, Amelia. I will not tolerate adultery.” Amelia turned on Quinn in indignation. “Whatever made you say such a thing?” “The gleam in your eye. I never saw such a gleam turned my way.” “And you never will,” she assured him with a saucy smile. “Ah, sweet thing,” he sighed. “What is a man to do with a woman like you?” “Free me.” “But I have not finished with you yet.” He threw her a great heart-stopping grin and followed up the stairs after Jon.

In a fidgety state of irritation, Amelia helped Hyacinth prepare the welcoming luncheon they had planned for Jon. Her nerves had just calmed when Nell fluttered into the great room. “Is this not exciting? Quinn’s brother has returned and this evening we shall host a welcome home party.” Amelia clamped down on her lip. It would upset her grandmother greatly when she disappeared right before the party. But there was no help for it. Amelia must do what she must for her grandmother’s sake as well as her own. Mary had almost regained her full strength. With her brothers’ help, she came downstairs for their meal. Amelia could not help feeling rather proud of the feast she’d spread with Hyacinth’s help. Roast turkey, oysters, sweet potatoes, peas, rice, fruit, and pie enough for double the group that eagerly gathered around the table. “Jon, tomorrow we shall go see the sugar plantation Dr. Yeats has been urging me to purchase.” “What do you know of sugar?” Jon asked. “Nothing, but we must keep up appearances. It

seems when the Spanish left they abandoned sugar, rice, and indigo plantations. The king would like to have these plantations inhabited and producing again.” “King George will never have my sympathy. I say we burn the plantations to the ground,” Jon declared. “Something to consider. As it happens, there’s a constant stream of Loyalist refugees pouring in daily from Georgia and the Carolinas ready to purchase and work the plantations. Every day there are more and more people in the city.” “And more and more soldiers,” Jon added. “It is a convenient place to train. The threats from the Georgia rebels to invade have come to naught, so the British feel quite safe training the troops in Saint Augustine.” “Would you mind answering a question for me?” Amelia asked. Quinn’s brow arched. “No,” he answered with a quirk of his lips. “Saint Augustine is a colony, the fourteenth colony. If it is so terrible under British rule why has this colony not turned against the crown?” His look of faint amusement changed to a frown.

“Do not fool yourself that the businessmen are happy, Amelia. They chafe at taxes as well as the citizens to the north. They desire more voice in the government and Governor Tonyn has yet to name a council. This colony has not joined with the others because it is remote from the others and has been more dependent on the king’s benevolence than the rest.” “I have not seen many unhappy people,” Amelia argued. “Sir Beresford, for example, seems well content.” “As a matter of fact, dear, he speaks longingly of England,” Nell put in. “The heat is hard on a man of his size.” Quinn leaned toward Amelia who sat across the table from him. “Why should we give our hard-earned money to replenish George’s war chest? Can you enlighten me, Amelia? Surely a Loyalist such as yourself has a ready answer.” “Naturally. We should do our duty, showing our loyalty and obedience to the crown in all things.” “Even when the crown is wrong?” “The crown is never wrong,” she countered,

rather enjoying their exchange. Quinn always challenged Amelia’s mind. If they were to remain married, she expected they would never run out of subjects to discuss or debate. “I beg to differ. There are many wrongs. The British upper class for instance, your class, turn their heads from poverty. They never see, never have seen the starving children in the streets. No, they are too busy going to balls and arranging the ‘right’ marriages and taxing the colonies. “There are no classes in our new country. We are all equal here as we stated in the Declaration of Independence. ‘We hold these truths to be selfevident, that all men are created equal --” “And the women?” Amelia interrupted testily. “What thought have you given to your women? Are they not equal to your men?” From the corner of her eye, Amelia thought she caught Marysmiling. Jon let out a puff of air and leaned back in his chair. Quinn pounded his fist on the table, one hard slam. “After all I have spoken is that the only thing you have heard, woman? By all that is holy, you try

my patience!” Nell’s brow wrinkled in concern as she turned a reproving glance on Amelia. “A wife must never discuss politics with her husband, dear. Did I neglect to mention that to you?” “Grandmother! He insulted us. He insulted you and me and Sir Wallace and Sir Basil.” Quinn’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile. “Ah, so you did understand something of what I said.” “You are so arrogant my blood boils. You are a black-hearted pot calling the kettle cruel and without feeling. How dare you lump us all in one body? I never turned away from the impoverished. I always have stopped to help street urchins --” “And your father plotted for years to arrange a suitable marriage. A duke? An earl? A viscount? What was your fancy? Did you have dreams beyond being called Lady Amelia?” “It is useless to argue with you. You will not hear me. I regret you chose Jon’s homecoming to launch this unseemly tirade. Perhaps you can forgive him, Jon. I will not.” Her back stiff with indignation, Amelia stood. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will retire to my room.”

“I do believe a drop of laudanum will ease your tension, Amelia dear.” Nell fluttered anxiously. “You’ve become overwrought and I am to blame. I have been remiss for never having warned you off. It is against all propriety for women to engage in political discussions. Men never settle the political differences between them through argument. And I fear women do not comprehend the subtleties of the subject.” Amelia bristled. Her own grandmother had turned against her. “Quinn Hallet has not been subtle. Have you not attended to his lecture?” “I was not lecturing,” Quinn insisted. “I was simply informing you. Your political education is sorely lacking.” “Amelia dear, you will find my laudanum --” “I have no reason to take your laudanum!” “In this instance, I believe Granny Nell is right. You need to collect yourself, sweet thing. Your unbiddable disposition is showing. It is strange how the truth always angers.” “Your truth is not my truth.” In fact the truth of Quinn’s words stung. Even

more, Amelia’s lack of facts made arguing with him difficult. She was not to blame for being born into the upper classes. She could not be held accountable for the injustices in England and the colonies. Besides, everyone, regardless of class, suffered from life’s injustices. Though she had not planned on quarreling with Quinn, it had served a purpose. Now he would suppose her sulking in her room for the remainder of the day while she made good her escape. Quinn chuckled. “Evidently.” “There is nothing more to say,” she snipped. “I bid you good day,” she added giving a terse nod and turning on her heel. Once in her room, Amelia hurriedly discarded her dress and donned her disguise. She rolled the sleeves of the large homespun shirt borrowed from Quinn and wiggled into the breeches she’d bartered from a young boy in the marketplace. She swept up her hair and fastened it with pins, pulling a threecornered hat snugly down over her head. Dressed as a boy, she planned to slip out of the house and run to the pier while the rest of the family was still at the table.

**** But within the hour Quinn was missing Amelia and regretting he’d lost his temper with her. Jon shot him a frown of disapproval. “You were rough on her.” “Yes,” Mary agreed. “Amelia has a good heart and has changed much in the past weeks.” “Do not forget that she is a Loyalist and our hostage,” Quinn said, in defense of his actions. “If we let our personal feelings interfere in this conflict, we shall lose for certain.” “But she is only a woman,” Jon said. “She knows nothing about politics.” “Mary is also a woman and has come to an admirable understanding of each position.” Mary smiled. “Do you say that only because I share your feelings? Could it be that when someone does not share your opinion on a matter, you disavow them?” “Amelia does not know enough facts to have formed an opinion, Mary. And you are generous to defend your gender.” “Perhaps you could educate Amelia in a more appropriate manner,” she suggested. “Given the

correct information, she might even come around to your ... our way of thinking, Quinn.” Nell clucked and shook her head. “Begging your pardon, but I have no wish for my granddaughter to be educated in the ways of politics. It is just not seemly for a woman.” “It does not disturb you that you are our prisoner?” Quinn asked. “You have treated me most kindly and with the utmost respect. I do not feel like a prisoner. As a matter of fact I am enjoying life in Saint Augustine far better than in Savannah. It is almost like being home.” “But you are homesick for England.” “Yes, but it does no good to dwell. I will speak to Amelia directly about her conduct, never fear.” Quinn pushed himself away from the table. “Do not disturb yourself, Granny Nell, I will see to her. We cannot let her sulk all day.” Jon exchanged a knowing glance with Mary. His siblings were right, he had been wrong. Quinn knew he must apologize and set things straight with Amelia or he would be feeling badly all day. It had come to that. If her eyes weren’t smiling,

he could not be happy. He rounded the corner into the parlor just in time to see the front door close. Damn! She was on the run again. A surge of fresh anger shot through his veins, but his curiosity was piqued as well. Where did his hostage bride think she was going now? He opened the door just a crack to peer out into the street. Several off-duty soldiers strolled at leisure, and a young boy scurried down the street - a boy about the same size as Amelia. Quinn grinned, giving her credit for great cleverness. Chuckling, he set off behind the boy who showed a distinctive swagger, a delectable bottom, and an enticing sway of hips. He followed Amelia past the barracks. Turning north at the corner of Bridge Street, she crossed the road and hurried along the path beside the choppy bay. Quinn’s amusement died when he realized she was heading for the pier. She was bound to board a ship. He didn’t know why he was surprised. But for some reason he thought she’d come to accept her

new life and to rather enjoy it. Amelia reigned as mistress of the household now. Once again she dressed in fine clothing, possessed a pet, and delighted in the many hours she spent gardening. Quinn treated her with respect. And, although his temper flared on occasion, he’d tried to be kind to Amelia at all times. He enjoyed and admired her beauty. He appreciated her sharp wit and the quickness of her mind. Why did she still feel compelled to leave him? What more could she want? A boring Loyalist husband? More times than he could count of late, Quinn had resisted the temptation of Amelia’s lush body and inviting lips. He’d made a point of going to bed long after she retired and rising before she awoke. Many nights as he lay awake watching her sleep, he had ached with desire. There was never a waking moment when he did not want Amelia…his wife in name only. She was fast approaching the marketplace where a scene would draw undue attention to them. Quinn quickened his pace until he was just a few yards behind her before calling out.

“Boy! Wait!” Amelia kept walking. A light rain had cooled the air and flavored it with the scent of orange blossoms and spicy lime. Clouds still dusted the sky and the ever-present salty aroma of the sea laced the humid afternoon. Deep in thought and unmindful of her disguise, Amelia ignored the call. “Boy!” The angry demand made her look over her shoulder. Quinn! “Do not run. Do not even think of it.” Amelia looked frantically around her and opted for the bay. With Quinn in pursuit, she half dashed, half slid down the rocky, somewhat treacherous embankment in the clumsy boots she wore. When she reached a large flat rock on the water’s edge, she spun around to confront him. And almost fell. The constant fine spray of sea made her perch excessively slippery. “Don’t come near me or I’ll throw myself in,” she warned, realizing too late that she and Quinn were out of sight down along the isolated stretch of rock, sea, and sand.

“Sweet thing, you do not swim, as I recall.” “I will drown and my death will be on your conscience forever.” “Amelia, just consider for a moment that you may be going too far. I understand our quarrel was unfair to you. I lost my temper.” He inched forward. “After all, you only know what you have been told, one side of the political story.” “Stand back.” “I must say you look extremely provocative in your disguise. It would be a pity to put an end to that curvaceous little bottom before it had known a man’s hand.” “You foul-mouthed heathen!” Shocked, Amelia momentarily forgot her precarious position to express her outrage. Even a Patriot could not be excused such lewd language! “I am just a man and my body cares not what your politics are, sweet thing.” “I will jump if you take one step more. Then what will you do for your cover? How will you explain my suicide? The governor will lock you in Fort Saint Marks and throw the key away!”

“You have worked yourself into a pet, haven’t you?” “Quinn --” He leapt with ease to a near, jagged rock. “Stand back or I will do as I say.” Quinn shrugged. “Very well.” Amelia froze for an instant. She had expected him to back away, but instead he eyed the rock next to the one on which she stood. Unused to the man’s oversized boots on her small feet, she took an awkward step back on the slippery rock - and lost her footing. The chilly water washed over Amelia as she descended into its salty depths. Immobilized, her mind reeled with horror. Her courage failed her. She did not want to die. She had no wish to be a martyr, to leave her grandmother. To leave ... Quinn. When her feet hit a ridge of coral rock, Amelia’s survival instincts took over. She pushed herself up from the rock toward the top, loosing her boots in the process. Certainly Quinn would not let her drown. He would be diving for her. She was too important to his charade. Opening her eyes she saw streams of light

above her. Kicking hard she hoped new momentum would propel her out of the chilly bay waters and into the sun before it was too late. Amelia was out of breath. Her lungs felt as if they would burst. As she neared the top, a firm, powerful grip wrested her forearm, pulling her up and out of the water in one swift motion. Sputtering, blinking, and coughing, she faced her rescuer. Quinn held both her arms now and somehow kept them both afloat. His eyes almost disappeared beneath a deep, dark frown. “Dear God, I thought I’d lost you.” His husky voice rumbled in her ear as his hands tightened on her arms and with a muffled groan he pulled Amelia against him. Her head spun and her heart swelled. Her husband actually cared whether she lived or died. Needles and pins skipped down her spine as she became aware of the comforting heat of Quinn’s body. “I ... I am sorry. It was an accident.” As if they had a will of their own, Amelia’s arms wrapped about his neck.

“Amelia…” Whatever he had been about to say was lost as she raised her lips to his and silenced Quinn with a kiss. A jolt of heat rocked her body as his kiss, deep and tender, lengthened. His tongue plunged into the recess of her mouth. Ignoring the icy water, Amelia welcomed his tantalizing invasion. Now she was truly drowning, lost in the depths of a great passion. Her lips clung to his of their own accord while her head spiraled in lightheaded delight. She wondered at the sudden, sweet heat between her thighs. Quinn was first to come to his senses. He pulled away gently. “Sweet thing, you torment me.” His hot fingers pressed into her flesh. “But we have to get out of this water.” Amelia closed her eyes and let herself be pulled through the water, hoping it would put out the fire inside her. When they reached the rocky embankment, Quinn’s hands slipped over her breasts to her waist. He pulled her to her feet. “This is less rocky. We can make it from here. Watch my feet and put yours in the same places. But

be careful, do not slip again.” When they had reached the top and safety, Quinn brought her to him once again, crushing Amelia in his arms, capturing her lips in a feverish kiss that weakened her knees and caused her heart to ricochet against her chest. Her mouth parted, her body pressed against his, wanting more, demanding more. She had never felt like this before, and never wanted the feeling, feelings to end. Quinn broke off with a mutter of impatience. “This will not do. Not here.” Amelia’s body screamed with a need she could not name and which her pride would not allow her to confess. Her mouth felt dry and her brain would not work. She had never experienced such a feeling of helplessness. She could only nod. It appeared she had at last stirred her husband to desire…and herself as well. When he picked her up to carry her home, Amelia circled her arms around Quinn’s neck and rested her head against his shoulders. Absorbed in her husband, the steely, muscular feel and citrus scent of him, Amelia did not notice the man who

watched them from across the road. **** Even soaking wet, Amelia felt as light as a cloud in his arms. But Quinn strode toward home as if he were being chased by a regiment of Red Coats. Indeed he was driven by a need that superseded all others. He’d resisted Amelia for weeks now, kept at bay by his conscience. And now when he should be livid and deciding upon some dire punishment for his disobedient bride’s latest escape attempt, he could only think of the kiss she had eagerly returned. He was only a man, and he could resist no longer what she offered willingly. At home, Quinn did not stop to answer questions. He strode by Jon as if he were invisible and took the stairs to the bedchamber two at a time. He carried Amelia over the threshold and closed the door behind them before he stopped. Amelia raised her head. Quinn’s heart roared within his chest. He lowered his mouth and hungrily sought her lips. Shadows from the late afternoon sun danced in the quiet room. The faint fragrance of roses

perfumed the air. Strains of Mozart drifted from the parlor below as Nell played the pianoforte. In the strength and warmth of Quinn’s arms, Amelia thrilled to the fierce kiss that threatened to devour her. Her heathen husband knew how to kiss a woman. Very well - and thoroughly. He ignited rivers of fire with his gently exploring tongue. The flames raced through her veins. Slowly, ever so slowly, he released his hold on her, guiding her down against his body until Amelia’s feet reached the floor. “I want you, sweet thing. I have tried to stay away but ...” His voice hoarse and thick with emotion trailed off. “Say you want me, too.” Amelia struggled to hear the voice of reason in her head, but her body, hot and aching beneath her wet clothes, screamed for Quinn. “Say it, Amelia.” It was all she could do to breathe his name. “Quinn ...” “Say you want me,” he demanded huskily, “or I will leave you now. I won’t force myself on you.” “I ... I want you.” The words were barely spoken when his lips

captured hers in a bruising eager kiss. Her heart raced with alarming speed, but Amelia gave herself to savoring each new sensation. It was Quinn. He’d promised to keep her safe. A whirlpool of fire bubbled deep within her as Quinn gently cupped one breast and then another through the soaked linen of her shirt. His thumbs brushed the rosy tips of her nipples until Amelia thought she could stand it no more. His lips still on hers, his tongue explored the sweet, minty recesses of her mouth. And when she thought she could no longer stand the ache building within her, he raised his lips. His eyes, burning with undisguised desire met hers. “I don’t want to hurt you, sweet thing.” “I know.” She knew without doubt, what she should have known before. Quinn had come to care for her. And she had fallen in love with him. Sliding to his knees, her handsome Patriot pressed his lips to her navel as he pulled her trousers down ever so slowly. He sprinkled kisses along her hips and thighs where the trousers had been ... until they fell around her ankles. He stood to peel the wet shirt over her head.

When she stood naked before him, his burning gaze swept over Amelia from head to toe, seemingly caressing every curve. Her body quivered, not from cold, but from the hot waves of desire crashing over her again and again. Tenderly, he kissed the taut buds of her breasts, tracing one and then the other with a soft flick of his tongue. Amelia moaned as the fire inside burst into searing flames. And when she thought she would collapse, Quinn brought his lips to hers again. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her softly, sweetly, gently - until she no longer could control the fire inside her. Amelia reached for the buttons on his breeches but fumbled. With a low, throaty chuckle, Quinn reached down and tore his clothes away. He stood before her proudly, all muscle and man. Powerful, strong and made of steel. He took her breath away. Before Amelia could find her voice, Quinn took her in his arms and carried her to the bed. As he fell to the bed with her in a tangle, Amelia felt his lips again. He smothered her body with

kisses. In the hollow of her throat, on the sensitive inner thigh, Quinn’s hot mouth triggered jolts of searing current that rocked Amelia and set her pulse to pounding with frightening speed. And she surrendered herself, body and soul to Quinn. “Please ...” she whispered. “Please ...” Her voice trailed away. Please what? She did not know. She only knew she was riding a wave higher and mightier than any she’d seen. Gently stroking her thighs, Quinn murmured soothing endearments in Amelia’s ear. “Sweet thing ... my beauty ... you have captured my heart.” Amelia heard everything and nothing. Her mind whirled and an emptiness in her body urgently begged to be filled. “Be with me ... Quinn. Please ...” Instinctively, she parted her legs. “I do not wish to hurt you,” he murmured again. “You could never hurt me,” she whispered. Quinn entered her at last. With his first gentle thrust Amelia gasped. Being one with her handsome husband filled her with delight, with a new and insistent yearning.

Slowly, he led her in a dance as old as eternity. Amelia sighed. Tiny little sounds of pleasure escaped her. She urged Quinn on. And when she felt him pierce her barrier, she cried out in joy. The fleeting pain meant little; the pleasure in their union was too strong, too deep. She urged Quinn on, faster and deeper. In turns, ferocious and tender, Quinn took Amelia on her most glorious adventure. In the warmth of his arms she climbed higher and higher. She heard her heart pounding, but could not be sure she was breathing. Caught up in the ancient rhythm of passion, Amelia lost herself to pleasure as she rose higher and higher as Quinn plunged deeper, faster, stronger. In a burst of fire and flame, Amelia rose on the crest and touched the sun. As she tumbled to earth she heard Quinn call her name.

Chapter 12 Hours later, Quinn still tasted Amelia on his lips

when he greeted his guests. He felt the smooth silk of his flesh on his as he attempted to entertain the enemy. It was the celebration of Jon’s release from Fort Saint Mark and he could not neglect his duty, no matter how much he would rather be making love to Amelia. His brother had pledged loyalty to the king, and that was enough to gain him acceptance from Saint Augustine’s leading citizens. He had cemented his role as Amelia’s husband and now it was time to move on with his assignment. The party also provided an alibi for his involvement in acts of war now in progress by members of the American Revolutionary Army. Four deserted plantations would be burned this night, rendering the land useless to the Loyalists. Later, in the early hours of the morning, three British warships at anchor in Matanzas Harbor would be destroyed. Quinn’s mission officially ended at dawn tomorrow. His orders called for him to abandon his hostages, Amelia and Granny Nell, in Saint Augustine. But how could he abandon Amelia now?

He loved the impertinent Loyalist. He’d realized the truth the moment he’d seen Amelia fall into the bay. In all of his reckless adventures, he’d never experienced such gripping fear. Numb from head to toe, he’d plunged to her rescue with a pounding heart and a stomach knotted in pain. When Quinn saved Amelia’s life, he’d saved his own as well. And making love to her this afternoon, he had discovered a dozen new reasons for living. Quinn had never experienced such an overwhelming release. Consorting with the enemy had taken on new meaning. Amelia was always on his mind. The familiar warmth that the sight of her triggered spread through his veins like thick molasses syrup. He held his breath as the most beautiful woman in the room swept to his side. Even the swish of her white silk gown was strangely seductive. Or was it the gleam in her cornflower-blue eyes that took his breath away? Perhaps it was her radiant smile or the creamy mounds of her breasts rising alluringly above her low shirred neckline. She set him on fire.

His gift of pearls adorned her long, graceful neck. If they had been alone, he would have given in to the temptation and dipped his lips to the honey hollow of her throat. “Quinn,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “Look how easily Jon is accepted into Saint Augustine society.” “My brother is likable enough.” “I did not mean he lacked the Hallet charm.” He could not resist teasing her. “Since when do you find me charming, sweet thing?” “Since you…you saved me from drowning.” Her eyes met his in a meaningful glance as she bestowed a coy smile. “Ah, yes. We both made important discoveries.” “Yes.” When her shining gaze locked on his, Quinn’s heart did a crazy somersault. “And look over there, Grandmother is the center of attention at the pianoforte.” “Granny plays like an angel.” “I think we have found happiness here in this home we’ve made, Quinn.” “We, sweet thing?”

“Are you not happy with me?” “You have conquered me completely.” “Or did I surrender?” She slanted him a coquettish smile. “I must not ignore Molly Yeats, the good doctor’s wife. But I will demand your complete attention when our guests have left.” Amelia and he had begun to believe their charade as a loving couple, Quinn thought, a potentially dangerous situation. But as he watched his Loyalist bride make her way across the room, her grace and beauty took his breath away. His loins ached with yearning; his heart thumped a melancholy beat. He would gladly surrender in her arms tonight. Quinn had never known the passion he’d found with Amelia, never soared to the blinding heights he’d discovered buried deep within her warmth. His palms ached to caress her breasts, his lips to explore her long, silky body. Before the gala tonight, Amelia had learned to love him. The light flick of her tongue, the gentleness of her stroke, tore him apart. Flesh against flesh, entangled together in heat, need and love they had created their own perfect, peaceful world.

He noticed something different as he watched Amelia move among their guests. She seemed to have lost her air of impatience and impulsiveness. She seemed content, and the glow in her eyes when her gaze met his from across the room, melted him. He was reduced to a weak-kneed boy. Just the thought of what lay ahead after the guests were gone caused Quinn’s breath to come in shallow gasps. Sweat broke out on his forehead. The mission might end in a few hours, but Quinn could never leave Amelia. Concentrating on his immediate future with the British beauty, he did not notice Luciano de Herrera slither to his side. “All is ready.” The Spaniard spoke in a quiet monotone. “I will expect your company in two nights’ time. On the night after next.” Quinn frowned. He should not have been caught off guard by Luciano’s approach. His new, total absorption with Amelia put him at risk. She distracted him to a dangerous point. “There will be four of us, instead of three,” he replied. Quinn had made up his mind. He would take Amelia with him.

The Spaniard hiked a dark, questioning eyebrow. “Is it wise to change plans at such a late date?” “There will be four in my company.” Luciano curled his lip in what might have been an imitation of a smile. Raising his tankard to Quinn, he ambled toward the buffet without further argument. Most Spaniards had evacuated Saint Augustine, fleeing to Cuba when the English won the Florida territory in the treaty of 1763. But after giving up the city to the British, the Spanish had undergone a change of heart. Determined to drive the British colonists out, they had joined forces with the revolutionaries. Luciano lingered behind on pretense as a Spanish spy. He also worked for the Patriots. As a result, Quinn found himself in league with a man he could not like but was forced to trust. In two nights time, the escape plan called for Luciano’s sloop to spirit Jon, Mary, and Quinn from Matanzas Bay and sail them to Havana. One of Quinn’s ships waited in Cuba to carry the Hallets back to Maryland. But Quinn could not conceive of life without

Amelia. He made his way to the buffet table heaped with sumptuous platters of oysters, shrimp, succulent roast beef, capon, baked ham, rice, and corn pudding. Great bowls of fruit and steaming deepdish pies completed the feast. The wine flowed abundantly and the garden courtyard was ablaze with light from torches and candles. Quinn stopped beside Doctor Yeats, where he commanded an excellent view of Amelia in the courtyard. She sat sipping wine with Alice White, making the new arrival to the city feel welcome, he felt sure. In just a short time Amelia had created a magnificent garden, blooming with a profusion of tropical plants and wildflowers. The scarlet hibiscus blossoms had folded their petals for the night, but the scent of sweet, night-blooming jasmine perfumed the air. Only a sprinkling of stars could be seen in the clouded night sky as the pale wedge of moon crept slowly higher. “What news of the rebellion have you, Doctor Yeats?”

“There is a rumor that two thousand rebels are gathering to launch a land attack on us from the north.” “I cannot believe it,” Quinn replied. In fact, he knew it wasn’t so. The Revolutionary Army did not boast enough men for the attack. “The rebels are kept too busy to worry about us.” “And while they are occupied we grow more prosperous. More refugees seek asylum every day. We have filled our abandoned houses and have been blessed by abundant crops.” Quinn raised his tankard of ale. “To continued prosperity.” The irony haunted him. While war and turmoil raged to the north, Saint Augustine thrived. This evening’s planned subterfuge was a direct result of information Quinn had gathered and Mary passed on to their commander, during her ill-favored journey. The acts of sabotage would do little but warn the Loyalist city that it, too, was vulnerable. “I have heard that Governor Chester in West Florida has recently issued a proclamation declaring his territory a haven for Loyalists.” Quinn had not heard. He would report the

intelligence information as quickly as possible. “Perhaps Pensacola will prosper as well,” he said. Before he could learn more, his attention was diverted to the parlor. Sir Wallace Beresford rapped a spoon lightly against an empty crystal glass. The impromptu bell soon caused an expectant hush to fall over the gathering. Granny Nell stood by Sir Wallace’s side resplendent in a green taffeta Paris gown. The sleeves, dripping with lace, were caught with deep green velvet garters studded with pearls. Amelia had come in from the courtyard garden to stand at Quinn’s side. He slipped an arm around her waist, inhaling her sweet rose scent. It seemed impossible to keep his hands to himself when she was near. “What is this all about?” she whispered. “I don’t know.” Any unplanned event put Quinn’s nerves on edge. Amelia squeezed his hand. “Look at grandmother’s beautiful smile. She is a schoolgirl again, infatuated with her first love.” “Ladies and gentlemen,” Sir Wallace began. “Since this is a night of celebration, I wish to add just

one more small reason to make merry. The extremely lovely Nell Lambton has just made me the happiest man in the New World. She has agreed to be my wife.” “Grandmother!” Amelia gasped and rushed to Granny Nell’s side as the guests burst into applause. Quinn followed, giving Granny Nell a warm embrace. He would miss the old woman. She possessed keen sense and twinkling humor, attributes more apparent since she’d given up her laudanum. “Congratulations, Nell. I wish you much happiness.” “Sir Wallace makes me happy indeed.” Blue eyes twinkling, she captured both of Amelia’s hands in hers. “I hope you will not mind too much, dear, but Sir Wallace and I plan to marry and return to England at once.” “I think that’s splendid news. I know how much you’ve missed the mother country.” “I feel safe in leaving now that you have found happiness with your husband. And there is no use in denying it, dear. The love shines in your eyes.” Amelia blushed. Quinn smiled at the telltale pink stain on her

cheeks. “I will miss you, Grandmother.” “We will talk more tomorrow.” Jon and Mary embraced Nell in turn. Looking at his siblings, Quinn knew they felt the same as he. Granny Nell would be sorely missed. She had become part of their lives, part of their family. But at least Quinn no longer had to worry about what would become of her. And Mary and Jon could no longer question Quinn’s decision to take Amelia with them to Havana and back to Maryland. If it were possible, the celebration gained momentum following Sir Wallace’s surprise announcement. It was close to midnight when Quinn realized he hadn’t seen Amelia in quite some time. He suppressed a surge of the old panic that had attacked him each time he could not account for the lovely Loyalist’s whereabouts. This afternoon Quinn and Amelia had come to an unspoken truce. Still, he searched from room to room, reassuring himself she would never leave him now. At last he found her. Amelia had returned to the

garden. Quinn did not recognize the gentleman who engaged her in what appeared to be an intense conversation. The stranger, who carried a monocle, stood only an inch taller than Amelia. He was a lean, small-boned individual with hound-dog brown hair and a foppish air. He stabbed the space between himself and Amelia with his glass as if he were angry. A disturbing mixture of curiosity and consternation caused Quinn to fall back where he could observe the scene undetected. The guest embroiled so deeply in conversation with his wife seemed familiar to him, but at the same time Quinn knew he’d never set eyes on the gentleman before. **** The night seemed suddenly colder, the air dry and suffocating. The garden had lost its glory. Amelia’s throat felt as if she had swallowed sand. She held one hand protectively over her palpitating heart and willed the trembling within her to cease. “The band of rebels will kill me instantly if you expose them,” she lied brazenly. “One of them

always lurks in the shadows, watching my every move ... with a gun pointed to my head.” “Then leave this house with me now.” She shook her head, ignoring the series of chills that shot down her spine. “If I attempt to do that, they will shoot you, Sir Basil.” “Amelia, I have come to your rescue at great expense. I hired a Seminole guide to follow your trail as soon as I ascertained what had happened to you. A cold trail, I might add, until we happened into a filthy gang of bandits.” He drew himself up with the air of a martyr. “But they talked for a handsome sum. The ruffians laughed over the petticoat trail they’d picked up some time back.” “They might have killed you.” “I have risked my life for you and parted with more funds than I care to think about along the way,” he informed her, pointing his monocle at her breasts. “It has been a long, hazardous journey.” “You must leave at once.” “This is how you greet me? Well, Amelia, I am not leaving without you.” Stunned and dismayed by Basil’s unbidden

appearance, Amelia did her best to be rid of him quickly. She prayed her grandmother would stay in the parlor. Nell knew Basil. Quinn knew of him by intelligence, though he’d never actually set eyes on her former fiancé. “No, no. You misunderstood. I did not mean that you should leave me forever. But, but... first we must contrive a plan to flee without injury. These Patriots are excessively clever and crack shots as well,” she warned in the most menacing tone she could conjure. She lowered her voice. “They are killers, Basil.” Sir Basil’s sparse eyebrows met in a frown. When he had courted her in Savannah, Amelia had not noticed the sparseness of her fiancé’s eyebrows. She’d not given any thought to his small stature and slight, sagging shoulders. She stared now, puzzling at his mouth. He had no lips to speak of. She could only describe them as lizard-lips. Basil impatiently tapped his monocle against the palm of his hand as his beady brown gaze pinned her to the spot. She knew he searched her eyes for the truth, as if he suspected her lies. Amelia’s nerves, already skittish, felt dangerously

close to snapping when Basil’s foot took up a rapid rhythm against a garden stepping stone. His presence compromised the bright future which Amelia could envision for the first time in her life. “You must leave immediately, before you are discovered,” she declared. “I have lived with the Hallets for almost two months now and I have never seen any one of them show mercy. Quinn and Jon are especially vicious.” “Where can we meet safely on the morrow?” “At the church,” she replied in a burst of inspiration. “Meet me in Saint Peter’s at eleven o’clock.” At that hour, Amelia was usually at the plaza marketplace with Hyacinth purchasing dinner. She could easily slip into the church without drawing undue attention. “If you are not at the church precisely at eleven, I will come directly to this house with a battalion of soldiers. These people who have held you hostage do not deserve to live.” “Do not fear. I will be there.” With a glower, Sir Basil turned and stormed out.

Amelia sank to the stone bench. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she waited for her heart to slow and return to a normal beat. Cold shudders wracked her body as she toyed with the pearls at her neck. She had been showing Molly Yeats her new plants in the courtyard garden when Sir Basil slipped through the gates as if he were an invited guest. Amelia had all but swooned in surprise. While once she had prayed for Basil to come and rescue her, now she had no wish to ever see him again. And from the moment of his arrival, he had given no hint that seeing her once more gave him pleasure, or even relief to find her alive and well. Instead, he seemed aggrieved that her disappearance had put him to much trouble and expense. Plainly, Sir Basil did not love her. She did not expect his affection. Their union had been arranged as a marriage of convenience. But what Amelia perceived so clearly tonight distressed her. Sir Basil did not even like her! She had come close to marrying a man who would have held her in contempt for a lifetime, if

Quinn had not come along. Her stomach knotted into a hard round ball. How could she save Quinn from Sir Basil Roberts’ wrath? How could she save Jon and Mary, who were like a brother and sister to her? **** Amelia prepared for bed in a trance. She fluffed her pillow and stared into the fluttering bedside candle. The house was quiet. Only the night sounds of crickets and owls hooting in the distance drifted through the open windows. “You are deep in thought tonight.” “It is two o’clock in the morning, Quinn. I am quite exhausted.” “Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” he asked, climbing in bed beside Amelia. “Of course,” she answered. “Did you?” “Yes. Did you make any new acquaintances tonight?” he asked, giving her every opportunity to tell him about the monocle-wielding stranger in the garden. “Only Alice White and her husband. And you?” She swallowed her guilt as she lied to him. “No.”

His gaze locked on hers. “No?” Amelia looked away, quickly changing the subject. “I cannot like Luciano de Herrera. What business do you have with him, Quinn?” The abrupt question gave him pause. Had Amelia somehow made a secret connection and now acted as spy for her homeland? Bombarded with new suspicions, Quinn felt his stomach roil. Was her enthusiasm for lovemaking motivated by the desire to learn Patriot secrets? His stomach roiled at the thought. “I have no business with Luciano. But I cultivate his friendship to prevent the Spaniard from becoming an enemy.” “Are you positive he knows the meaning of friendship? What does he do?” “He refused to throw away his fortune and kept his Saint Augustine plantation when the rest of his countrymen left for Cuba. He grows sugar.” “Luciano will require a quantity of sugar to make himself sweet.” “Perhaps. I thought I saw someone in the garden tonight whom I did not know. Do you recall such a

man? He carried a monocle.” Amelia’s back stiffened. “A monocle?” “A small, unattractive man.” “Oh, yes! I remember now, although I’ve forgotten his name. He is new to Saint Augustine and had lost his way. When he heard the noise of our party, he stopped to ask directions.” Her heart sank. Her cheeks burned. She had compounded the lie. The conversation Quinn had witnessed was not an innocent exchange of questions and directions. Amelia and the stranger had been engrossed in an intense encounter. Quinn sank to the bed. Pain coursed through every pore, every muscle, every bone in his body. Just when he’d come to believe Amelia to be the love of his life, she stood ready to betray him. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “Why the terrible sigh?” “I am tired.” “Then let us blow out the candle and I will give your back a soothing massage.” Quinn rolled over. When her fingertips touched his back, ripples of

white heat shot to the base of his spine. She gently kneaded the tense muscles of his shoulders. He groaned softly, need and despair warred within him. “Quinn, I have been wondering. Will we stay here until the end of the war?” “I will return to Maryland when my mission has ended.” “Your mission was not just freeing Jon, was it?” “No,” he replied tersely. “I won’t ask more. But I would like to make a suggestion.” “Suggest, sweet thing.” Her palms, soft and warm, rubbed and caressed his back. Her fingertips kneaded his sore muscles, and Quinn recognized how helpless he’d become in Amelia’s hands. “I will accompany you to your home and wait there for you as a neutral observer. The war must end one day, with victory for one side or another. On that day we no longer will be Loyalist and Patriot. We will simply be husband and wife. And that is all that matters to me now. Being with you, loving you.” Amelia had spoken the words his heart had yearned to hear for so long. And now he knew them

to be empty words, words of betrayal that pierced his heart with the pain of the sharpest dagger. A deathly winter coldness settled over him. If she had expressed the desire to go home with him just days ago, Quinn would have been delighted. But now he saw her request as the ruse it was to place herself behind enemy lines. Cleverly, Amelia thought to stay with him and feed precious Patriot information to British intelligence. Her lips brushed the nape of his neck. A shudder of suppressed desire rocked his body. “Quinn?” Her breath warmed his ear, her soft voice urged a reply. “What do you think?” “I thought you liked Saint Augustine, the house, and the new friends you have made.” “It is true. I do. But you mean more to me than all of those things. I only want to be with you.” Sweet lies, sweet lies. “I am much too weary for this conversation,” he said, putting her off. “We shall talk in the morning, Amelia.” It promised to be a long night. And he dreaded what must come with the dawn.

Chapter 13 The next morning Amelia dismissed the eerie feeling she and Hyacinth had been followed to the plaza. She attributed her frayed nerves and sense of foreboding to her imminent encounter with Sir Basil. Approaching the plaza she stopped as if struck with a sudden thought. “Hyacinth, this morning I think I will visit the church for a few moments. I wish to give thanks for Jon Hallets safe return. We have been truly blessed since our arrival in Saint Augustine.” Hyacinth appeared a bit puzzled. Previously, Amelia had only attended church on Sunday. But as always the young girl was agreeable. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered quietly. “I will catch up with you at the fishmonger’s wagon,” Amelia called as she headed across the plaza to the church. Taking a bracing deep breath, she quietly entered the small domain of Parson Forbes. But her heart thudded so loudly against her chest that she feared it would give Basil ample warning of her arrival. She had but one goal, to send him back to

Savannah before he could bring harm to Quinn or his siblings. She had come to love Mary and Jon almost as much as Quinn. She’d come to regard the Hallets as her family. Parson Forbes took great pride in his openbeamed, high-ceiling church. It was constructed of Florida pine and complete with spire and bell tower, and the smell of wood, dust, and dying flowers prevailed. Wringing her hands nervously, Amelia looked about her. But all was silent and empty, not even a church mouse stirred. Too anxious to take a seat in one of the pews, she murmured a hasty prayer as she paced in the rear of the church. “Please help me send Sir Basil away.” The words had barely been spoken when she heard her name. “Amelia.” The high-pitched timbre of Basil’s voice echoed from the front of the deserted church. Startled, Amelia turned on her heel. Her former fiancé had slipped in through the front side door.

Always a bit of a dandy, he carried a bound cocked hat with silver cords. Basil’s hair was powdered and he wore a fine ruffled linen shirt, an ornate vest trimmed in lace, silk stockings, and black frock coat. Amelia thought he must be excessively warm dressed so in Saint Augustine’s heat. She waited silently as he approached in a swagger peculiar to small men. “Are you ready to come away with me? I have a carriage ready and waiting behind the sanctuary.” Amelia lowered her head and slipped into the nearest pew. Basil sat beside her. “What is wrong now?” he demanded gruffly. “Basil, I am sorry. I cannot leave. I cannot go with you.” “Why? A forced marriage to an enemy spy cannot be considered legal. If it is, we shall have the union dissolved. You were promised to me.” “Alas,” she sighed, determined to appear as pitiful as possible. “There is more to my story.” Sir Basil’s rigid posture radiated extreme tension. “What more?” Inhaling deeply, she drew herself up. “I am with

child.” Basil bounced up, slamming his fist against the pew in front of him. “What!” he howled. “By all that’s holy woman!” Amelia clamped down on her lip to prevent the laughter which would give her away. “Sssh! Collect yourself, Sir Basil. You are in a house of worship.” “How did this happen?” Slowly she raised her eyes to his. “Why, in the usual manner.” The lie came easily, and she actually felt a devilish amusement in Basil’s shocked reaction. Although she had spent several long, joyous hours in Quinn’s arms, Amelia had not become pregnant to her knowledge. She hoped it wouldn’t be long until that happy day, however. “Your father promised your hand in marriage to me. He gave his word I would inherit his plantation.” “I have no use for the plantation, Sir Basil, if that is all that concerns you.” “No, no, no.” He eased down beside her once again. Withdrawing a kerchief, he wiped his brow. “You have been misused and abused by a scoundrel rabble-rouser. That is what concerns me.”

“Do not worry about me. My bed has been made for me, and I…I will lie in it.” She raised the back of her hand to her forehead playing the drama for all it was worth. “No. You will return with me.” “And will you raise Quinn Hallet’s child as your own?” “Damnation!” he thundered, springing up. “Blasphemy ... in a church? I beg of you, Sir Basil.” He pointed his monocle at her nose. “Last night, during your party, four plantations were burned to the ground.” “Oh, my. Was anyone hurt?” “They were not yet inhabited. But that is beside the point.” “What is the point?” “Three British warships in the harbor were also destroyed in the early hours of this morning.” “Dear, dear.” “The losses are being faulted to a Patriot spy called Liberty. Would that just happen to be Quinn Hallet?”

Amelia shook her head. “I cannot conceive it He was with me all the night.” “Do you deny he is a rebel Patriot?” “No. But Quinn came to Saint Augustine to free his brother from Fort Saint Mark. He only used me to gain entrance to the city.” “He is a killer, you said so yourself.” “My husband only kills those who offend him, Sir Basil,” she said, casting a knowing look at the pompous man. Suppressing a smile she lowered her head. “As difficult as it has been, I have adjusted to life with Quinn. For your own sake, Basil, I urge you to leave Saint Augustine at once. I will sell you the plantation at a fair price.” “I do not currently possess the finances to make such a purchase,” he replied woodenly. “We will work out an arrangement. I will prepare documents agreeing to sell my property following the war at one-third of its value. I shall make plain it is my proposal in return for your supervision of the plantation from now until the conflict ends.” “How can I be sure you will do this?” “Hyacinth will deliver the papers to you at Saint George’s Inn before dusk.”

“I have come all this way for nothing?” “You will own a plantation. But you must leave before Quinn discovers you. I regret that I have inconvenienced you, Basil, but I cannot return to Savannah. Surely, you understand. I must go where Quinn goes. I cannot separate my child from his father.” “This is all highly irregular.” “Yes, it is…unless, of course, you are willing to raise my son.” Amelia held her breath, hoping her bluff would work. She did not hear the rear door open nor see the shadowy figure who crouched behind a far side pew. Basil tapped his monocle against his palm. The thin line of his mouth stretched tight his small chest puffed in indignation. “It is not right,” he grumbled. “The Patriot should pay with his life.” “Do not worry Basil. Someday, when Quinn least expects it, I shall take care of him for what he has done to me.” “I would feel better if I could depend on your resolve,”

“You may, Sir Basil, I assure you. Do we have a bargain then?” “Yes. But be careful, Amelia. Be very careful.” **** Quinn waited until the plotting couple left the church, Amelia by the front door, Sir Basil by the side door. No wonder the stranger who had come to the party last night seemed familiar. Before embarking on the kidnapping of Amelia Farnthorpe, Quinn had been briefed on her fiancé, Sir Basil Roberts. The report included the man’s weasel-like description as well as his inauspicious background. He’d heard enough of the Loyalists’ conversation to convince him. It had been a mistake to trust his harridan bride. Amelia meant to do more than betray him, she meant to kill him. His heart felt as if it were bleeding, but at the same time the fury that boiled in his veins made his head spin. Quinn strode from the church prepared to act swiftly. First he must contact Luciano and make arrangements to depart for Havana tonight. He could not afford to wait to follow the original plan.

In less than an hour he arrived at the comfortable house on Bridge Street which had become home. Until this morning he thought he would feel a deep sense of sadness when it came time to leave this house. Quinn had believed he had found love here. “Mary, Jon, come with me. It is a good day for a stroll along the bay.” “But Amelia and Hyacinth will be back soon,” Mary protested. “They can cook the midday meal without you.” Quinn set a brisk pace. But he could not run from the wounds of Amelia’s betrayal. The blood thickened in his veins. Anger and pain swirled in his brain and squeezed the life from his heart. His chest felt as if a mule team lay upon his lungs. He could not breathe; he felt as if he were suffocating. Even the ocean breeze did not help. The salty air stung his nostrils. Quinn’s stomach heaved and pitched like a floundering ship. Finally, he slowed. Making his way over the rocky embankment, he found a spot where he and his siblings could sit without undue hardship. “We leave for Havana tonight.”

“What?” Mary exclaimed. “Why the change in plans?” Jon asked, hunching forward. “It is only a change of one night. I’ve arranged it with de Herrera already.” “But why?” Jon pressed. “Because if we stay longer, we shall be in danger. We will travel with just the clothes on our back and leave the house before dawn. A small skiff will be waiting at the pier to transport us to Luciano’s sloop.” “We are taking Amelia with us, are we not?” Jon asked. “No.” Mary’s sweet face folded into a frown. “Why?” “She can go to England with her grandmother and Sir Wallace.” His sister protested, “I don’t think she has any desire to do that, Quinn.”. “You have come to think of her as a friend, Mary. But she is the enemy and she has betrayed us. I am sorry.” “No,” Jon scoffed with a wave of his hand. “Amelia loves you. It was plain to see the first day

she came to the fort with you to visit me. She would never betray you.” “Evidently you did not see the stranger who came to our party last night and engaged my bride in a secretive conversation.” “When did this happen?” Jon demanded. “Where was I?” “Enjoying yourself as guest of honor.” “This is some sort of misunderstanding,” the young man countered. “Really? And did you follow her this morning? Did you see her send Hyacinth into the marketplace while she hurried off to a clandestine meeting in Saint Peter’s Church?” “Oh, no,” Mary sighed. “I had so hoped her love for you would overcome her Loyalist leanings.” “Do not allude to love. Amelia doesn’t love me and she never has. She played a dangerous game.” And she has won, he thought bitterly. Tonight, when he left Amelia Anne Farnthorpe behind, he would also leave his heart. He would never love again. “But what will become of her?” Mary asked. “Amelia has many choices. If she does not wish

to return to England with her grandmother, I am sure Sir Basil will be more than happy to take her back to Savannah. Or, she may stay here, with her garden.” Jon shook his head as if Quinn’s suggestions were signs of a deteriorating mind. “Stay here with no one to support or protect her?” “A woman like Amelia always manages,” Quinn assured him. “I am not so certain.” “We will return to the house now. Be sure to behave as if nothing is amiss. We must be careful not to forewarn Amelia in any way. If we arouse her suspicions, we may not leave Saint Augustine alive.” ‘‘But what if you are wrong about Amelia, Quinn?” “I am not wrong, Mary. And this is something we cannot question her about without putting our lives in jeopardy.” “How can you be so sure you are right? Has your wounded pride blinded you?” “I will not risk your life and Jon’s. I cannot take the chance. You are my blood, my family.” Jon scratched the back of his head, obviously still unconvinced of Amelia’s perfidy. “Did you overhear

the entire conversation between Sir Basil and Amelia?” “I heard enough. Now, let’s get back before our absence arouses suspicion.” **** Amelia had been silently congratulating herself for her expedient handling of the matter with Sir Basil. All the man really wanted was the plantation, a piece of property she had no affection for and could easily relinquish. The day sped by in a flurry of activity. In order to depart aboard The Wellington, sailing the next morning, her grandmother and Sir Wallace were to be wed in the garden at twilight tonight. Amelia helped a bubbling Nell prepare for her impending nuptials and journey home. She was kept far too busy to notice anything amiss in the household. Mary and Hyacinth scurried about cooking a special wedding meal to be served following the ceremony. Quinn and Jon went off again to survey property. In the late afternoon Amelia retired to her room to write two papers. One document freed the slaves

and released the servants on her father’s Savannah plantation; the other gave Sir Basil Roberts the right to operate the plantation for a year. At the end of twelve months’ time, he could buy the property at a reduced rate. It was a more than generous agreement, and she fervently hoped her former fiancé would be so pleased he would forget that Quinn and Amelia Hallet ever existed. She had just dispatched Hyacinth to deliver the documents and was about to change into her dinner gown, when she heard a soft knock at her door. “Jon! I thought you were with Quinn.” “I came back early. Forgot something.” His eyes fixed on hers. “May I come in?” “Into our bedchamber? I ... I—” “It is important that I speak to you in private, Amelia.” “Well, all right then.” Hesitantly, she closed the door behind him. “I will not stay long. I just came to bring you this.” He pulled a pistol from his knapsack. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared nonplused at the weapon. “Is that what I think it is?”

“A dueling pistol for your own protection. Quinn should have given you a weapon a long time ago.” “But I do not know how to shoot. I do not want to know how.” “It’s not difficult, Amelia. All you do is hold, aim, and fire.” He took a firing stance, aiming the gun toward the window. “Like this.” Amelia wanted nothing to do with any weapon. “But I might kill an innocent bystander, or hurt myself.” Jon paid no mind to her objections. “Do it, let me see you do it.” His determination swayed her. It could not hurt to humor her dear brother-in-law. “Raise, aim, and fire,” she repeated, assuming the same stance Jon had taken, feet firmly planted apart. “And shoot to kill. That is the most important thing. If you feel in danger and must use this pistol, do not hesitate. Shoot to kill.” “I do not intend to engage in any duels,” she told him. “But I promise to remember your lesson, Jon.” “I’ll leave you now.” “Thank you.”

Amelia leaned hack against the door after closing it behind him. How strange, she mused. Did Jon know something she did not? Was there a reason she might need a weapon? Would it ever be necessary for her to shoot to kill?

Chapter 14 “... until death do you part. And now I pronounce you man and wife.” Parson Forbes concluded the simple marriage ceremony in the garden courtyard shortly after the sky had darkened and the stars began to shine. Quinn, Amelia, Mary, and Jon looked on fondly as Nell Lambton and Sir Wallace Beresford sealed their vows with a kiss. The elderly woman beamed. Nell made a radiant, beautiful bride in pale blue silk. Sir Wallace, a proud and obviously happy man, did not take his eyes off her. They might have been sixteen-year-old lovers instead of newlyweds in their sixties. Quinn guessed Amelia would someday be as beautiful a bride as her grandmother. She was lovely

now, standing by his side in a confection of creamy butter silk and lace. Imbued in the sweet rose bouquet fragrance of her, he was tempted to disregard everything he had learned in the past twenty-four hours. “Oh, Quinn!” Misty-eyed, Amelia clasped her hands together beneath her chin. “Was it not a beautiful ceremony?” He nodded. Perhaps she was comparing this ceremony with the hurried marriage she no doubt still believed had made her his bride. Before he stole away in the wee hours of the morning, he must tell her. They were not married. They had never been man and wife. And now they never would be. Quinn winced with the pain that gripped his heart. Very real and quite agonizing, it felt as if a giant hand squeezed the life away. Amelia embraced her grandmother, escorting her inside the house. “Come, it is time for a wedding supper. Come, Parson Forbes.” Mary looked up at Quinn. Reproach glinted in her flashing dark eyes. “Amelia prepared this meal of delicacies. She has been managing the household since I fell ill. Your wife is no longer the spoiled

British child you kidnapped in Georgia.” “I know.” “She plucked the roast chicken you will eat tonight herself.” “Mary, that is enough,” he admonished her softly. His siblings still tried to convince him to take Amelia with them. Jon and Mary had been bewitched. And Quinn as well, he conceded to himself once more. The lovely Loyalist had fooled them all. Following the wedding feast, Nell planned to return to Sir Wallace’s residence. They would sail for England in the morning aboard TheWellington. Because Amelia would not see her grandmother again for some time, Quinn expected her complete attention to be directed toward Nell this evening. He did not think she would notice his tension, his withdrawal from her. Quinn could not laugh and be merry when he felt only devastation over losing the woman he’d come to love so desperately. And when he looked at Granny Nell his disquieting sense of loss only deepened. Long after Granny Nell and Sir Wallace had departed, Quinn sat alone. Hours after Amelia, Jon,

Mary, and Hyacinth had retired, he lingered in the great room. He brooded, gulping tankard after tankard of champagne in a vain attempt to dull his feelings. But the pain did not ease and he blasted the bubbly liquid for tasting bitter. The grandfather clock struck midnight, each chime echoing in the silent house. In just a little over four hours they would be gone. Before dawn on this morning he would leave Amelia. “Quinn, are you not coming to bed?” Lost in his melancholy, he’d not heard Amelia approach. The candle she held illuminated her face. A slight frown marred the porcelain smoothness of her brow, and concern clouded her sky-blue eyes. Golden strands glistened among the silky mass of curls falling beyond her shoulders and against the filmy fabric of her dressing gown. She inclined her head in an unspoken question. “Later,” he grunted. “Is something amiss, Quinn?” “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever

known,” he stated flatly. She smiled. “And you are the most handsome of men.” “What do you suppose Granny Nell and Sir Wallace are doing now?” “Celebrating their union, I expect.” She paused and cast him a small, seductive smile. “Just as I would like to do if only you will come to bed.” “Ah, but sweet thing, we have no union to celebrate.” “What?” Her eyes flashed wide. A small smile parted her lips as if she thought he teased her. “What do you mean?” “I mean I am not your husband,” he replied quietly. “I don’t understand.” Amelia’s gaze fell on the near-empty tankard he held in his hand. “Perhaps you have had too much champagne.” “No. I have drunk just enough champagne to enable me to tell you the truth.” “Are you saying we are not married? That you are not my husband? I am not your wife?” She seemed stunned. Plainly, Amelia did not believe him.

“It is time for us to be honest with one another.” “Quinn, you are frightening me!” She clamped down on her lip, regarding him with a troubled frown. “I have always been honest with you.” “Have you now?” Quinn roughly spun the tankard away from him, splashing warm champagne. “I do not think so. But neither have I been honest with you.” “How have you been untruthful?” she asked with a hint of wariness. Apprehension darkened her eyes almost to the color of indigo. “Tell me, Quinn.” “We are not married.” “What?” Her question was no more than a murmur. “The fellow who married us in such a hurried fashion was only a fresh Georgia recruit. He was a farmer chosen to play the part of minister in our little charade because he could read.” Her expression stricken, Amelia’s mouth opened and closed. The hand holding the candle trembled. Her voice wavered. “I cannot believe you. Why are you saying this?” “Because it is the truth. No matter how beautiful the woman, I would not wed a perfect stranger, an enemy of my country.”

“No!” “Perhaps you will forgive me for my little duplicity one day. It was my commanding officer’s idea to stage the mock ceremony. In addition to saving Granny Nell from being sent to a prisoner of war camp, he thought you would be more malleable if you believed you were wed. What he didn’t know of course is that you were never the sweet, biddable young woman reported to us.” “I see.” Amelia’s eyes filled with tears. She held her chin high as she twisted off the ring. “You will be wanting this then.” She slammed the ring into his outstretched hand. He nodded, consumed by a heavy cloak of sorrow. “Yes.” “Was it really your mother’s wedding band?” Quinn averted his eyes, unable to face her pain. “Yes.” She whirled away but after taking only a few steps, stopped and turned. Her tormented eyes locked on his. “It was a cruel hoax. You did not have to make me fall in love with you, Quinn Hallet.” He jumped up. The pain, the anger, the anguish, and humiliation erupted within him. The emotions

he’d tried so hard to suppress these past few hours ran together like open wounds. “No more cruel than convincing me you loved me as well,” he roared. “While all the time you were waiting to betray me.” “Never! I would never betray you.” “You betrayed me in our own home!” he bellowed. Taking a deep calming breath, Quinn fought to control his temper. He continued in quiet, icy tones. “You betrayed me right here. First, you met with Sir Basil in the garden. And then you met him again this morning at Saint Peter’s.” “I did meet with Basil, but only to send him away before he reported you to the authorities.” “Exactly what I expected you to say.” He turned and strode away from her. “How can I prove the truth to you?” “You cannot.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You were betrothed to Sir Basil and apparently your heart still belongs to the weasel. You share the same politics and more evidently.” “That is not true. In my eagerness to please my father I accepted his beliefs without question. In

these last few months I have come to my own way of thinking, somewhere in the middle of your opinions and his. King George does not understand all matters here.” “You do think quickly. One lie easily follows another.” “I do not lie to you, Quinn. You must believe me. The proof will be evident in Basil’s departure from Saint Augustine.” “Am I supposed to wait and watch this magnificent exodus?” “He should be gone by now. In the morning we will know for certain.” “And will the Red Coats arrive at the same time to haul Jon and Mary and me to the fort?” “No!” “Go to bed, Amelia. The game is up and I am weary. Take your betraying Loyalist heart and leave me. I should not have expected anything but duplicity from you.” Quinn raked a hand through his hair, before his gaze met hers once more. “But you were clever. You enchanted me with your smile and with your fierce, indomitable spirit. I shall never forget you.”

There was something more. But he could not say he loved her, would always love her. “Duplicity? You dare to accuse me of duplicity?” she cried. “A false wedding ceremony was not quite an honest beginning to our relationship.” “There is no relationship between us.” Amelia heaved a heavy sigh. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. “Perhaps, perhaps in the morning, you will see the truth more clearly.” “Perhaps.” He could not witness her tears. “Leave me now.” **** Amelia returned to her bedchamber with a broken heart. Throwing herself across the bed, she cried until she had no more tears, until her throat burned raw and her lungs ached. Unable to even think of sleep, she stared at the ceiling and paced the room, reflecting on Quinn’s confession. She had hidden the dueling pistol Jon had given her beneath her pillow. If she still did not love Quinn more than she had ever dreamed possible to love a man, she might consider murder. But Amelia would always love the handsome

Patriot she’d believed to be her husband. She loved him with all of her heart. She would never, could never, love another man. And if she were not legally wed to Quinn, it mattered not. They were connected in every other fashion. Heart to heart, flesh to flesh, mind to mind, soul to soul. Quinn suffered from a sorely wounded pride, his mind had been muddled by the champagne. In the silent, empty room, Amelia came to a decision. She refused to lose the love of her life without a fight. In the weeks gone by, she had opposed him every step of the way and yet had learned to love Quinn. Now she would fight for him, for their love. In the darkness, long after the candle sputtered out, Amelia resolved to let time tell the story. She prayed fervently Sir Basil had left Saint Augustine, content with the papers giving him immediate control of her father’s plantation. With Basil gone, it would not be long before Quinn would be forced to see the truth and apologize. He loved her. Amelia knew and felt his love every day, warming her, shining as strong and sure as the sun. He loved her and would marry her.

Cuddling a purring Sophie Too in her arms, she sat by the window contemplating the pale sliver of moon. On the brightest star in the heavens, she wished that Quinn would come around to the truth in the sober light of day. Amelia dozed on and off at her window perch. At first she was not sure of the sound she heard below. It sounded like the soft sound of a door closing. But after rubbing her eyes, she saw the outline of three figures. She knew the forms well enough to recognize them, Quinn, Jon, and Mary. They were leaving her. Amelia sucked in her breath and felt her heart shatter. Sharp keening pain shot through her body. The slash of a dagger or a gunshot wound could not have caused more pain. Her family was leaving her behind. The brother and sister she had never had followed Quinn, hugging the shadows. She had come to love Mary and Jon dearly and believed they had learned to love her, too. Just hours ago, Amelia thought she had cried herself dry of tears, but a new silent flood of

anguished tears slid down her cheeks.

No! She had no time for tears or self-pity. Quickly, Amelia threw on the nearest gown, the dress she had worn the night before. Ignoring her disheveled hair and lack of slippers, she practically flew down the stairs, running barefoot out into the night. It did not matter where the Patriots were headed, she could not let Quinn go without her. He was her love, her life. And she had never ever been a biddable woman. Amelia had not quite reached the end of Bridge Street before she heard footsteps behind her. When she turned to see who followed, Sir Basil’s arm wrapped around her waist. As he seized her, the momentum at which they traveled almost brought them both to the ground. “What is your hurry, Amelia?” he snarled softly in her ear. “Nothing to concern you.” She wrenched in his arms, struggling to free herself. “Let me go.” “No. I’ve decided that is not the thing to do.” “What are you doing here lurking in the night?” Angry beyond measure that he would hold her while

Quinn ran ahead, Amelia could barely disguise her contempt. “Did Hyacinth not deliver the documents to you?” “Yes. But I thought how much more pleasant to have both. A plantation and the glory of bringing down a spy.” “You greedy monster!” White-hot fury raced through her blood. Barefoot, Amelia could not hope to wrest away from Basil by stomping on his foot. But there was another way. Twisting toward him, Amelia brought her foot up and kicked with all her might... in the general area of Sir Basil’s groin. “Arggh!” With a grunt and cry of pain, Basil doubled over, freeing Amelia. She ran as if her life depended upon it - as was surely the case. Too soon she heard Basil behind her again. Just as she reached the harbor, the villain caught up with her. This time his arm went about Amelia’s neck, choking her. “You are an incorrigible, headstrong young woman, Amelia. We would never have suited,” he growled in her ear. “You need a patient man to tame

you.” “There is not a woman alive to suit you,” she hissed. “You black-hearted scoundrel.” Her voice came in hard, raspy breaths. “You will come with me. Quietly.” Amelia felt cold hard metal at her back. The gray tight of dawn streaked across the sky to the east, behind the ships at anchor in Matanzas Bay. The Hallets were nowhere to be seen. She stood dead in her tracks, refusing to move, waiting for Basil to pull the trigger and kill her. A whispered, unintelligible command and movement at the nearest pier drew her attention. “It appears your husband and Patriot friends are leaving.” “They are not my friends.” Amelia spoke through her teeth. “Do you know where they are going?” “No.” “No matter. I will stop them and be well rewarded by the king.” “No!” But Basil roughly shoved her forward. Her mind

raced as he marched her along the pier, his gun once more pressed against her back. Basil pointed to a small skiff used for ferrying men and supplies. “Get in.” The tip of a blazing orange-cinnamon sun poked through the blue horizon. The Hallets had just pulled away from the dock. Amelia could not make out their faces in the dawning misty light, only their familiar forms. Mary sat in the bow, Jon rowed, and Quinn sat in the stern holding what appeared to be a musket. They were headed toward a dark, sleek sloop. She wondered if they could see her or understand her predicament. “Get in!” Basil ordered once more. Amelia could not delay any longer. She jumped into the small weathered vessel. Basil untied the rope and jumped into the boat, causing it to rock. “One move and you’re dead. Now that I have the documents you so kindly gave me, your life is no longer required.” With a triumphant sneer, Basil placed his weapon on the bench beside him and picked up the oars. Amelia eyed the pistol. Raise, aim, and tire. “Sit there.” Basil gestured with a jerk of his head

to the bench at the stern. “And do not try to warn your rebel friends or you will die first.” “They will see us as soon as we leave the dock.” Judging by the slow pace the Hallet boat traveled, it was obvious they were not yet aware of being followed. The tide was low and the bay as smooth as a lake. Basil rowed with surprising strength. Amelia feared he might actually overtake them. His eyes glinted in a menacing manner. He puffed as he rowed, and a constant sneer hovered on his thin lips. Amelia’s heart pounded. She must do something, but what? They had traveled but a few yards, when, staring over Basil’s shoulder to the boat she should have been on, Amelia saw Mary raise her arm, pointing at them. “We’ve been spotted,” she told Basil with no small sense of satisfaction. “I expected as much.” He swiftly brought the boat around. To Amelia’s astonishment, Quinn and Jon had stopped rowing. Only forty feet of calm, still water

separated one skiff from the other. Grabbing his pistol, Basil stood up, holding his weapon in the air so the Hallet brothers would be sure to see it. “Do not go any further!” he yelled. “I will turn this gun to Amelia’s head if you so much as touch the oars.” She could see the brothers turn to one another. “What kind of man are you, Quinn Hallet, that you abandon your wife when she is pregnant? You are less than a man. A rebel ruffian lacking morals and decency.” “How dare you talk to my husband of decency!” Amelia cried. “Be still, woman.” Only the shrill cries of several seagulls circling overhead could be heard as Basil waited for a response. But none came. Amelia held her breath. Her heart pounded furiously. No one moved in the Hallet skiff. “He doesn’t believe you,” Amelia hissed. “I have not yet told my husband that I am expecting his child.” Her former fiancé glared at her before returning his attention to the Patriots. “Quinn Hallet! You are

such a misfit, Amelia could not bear to tell you she is carrying your child. Come in. Give yourself up. You will be held here as a prisoner of war, but at least you will live to see your son.” After a silence that lasted some heartrending moments, Quinn replied across the water, “And if I don’t give myself up?” “I will kill you all, including Amelia and your unborn child.” “Go to hell, weasel!” “They believe we are in league, Basil,” Amelia murmured. “I will kill Amelia,” Basil shouted. “She is a traitor to the Loyalist cause and I will feel no sorrow on the occasion of her death.” Amelia’s pulse raced wildly as she counted each second of silence, hearing only the gentle lap of water against the boat. “What do you want us to do?” Quinn hollered. “Row back to the pier.” But the Hallet boat still did not move. “I am running out of patience,” Sir Basil declared, raising his pistol in the manner Jon demonstrated

one must do before firing. Amelia had no choice. She must save Quinn. Springing up, she lunged for the pistol in Basil’s hand. Taken by surprise, he stumbled back, tripping against the bench. The boat rocked perilously. With the boat swaying and pitching, it was impossible for Amelia to plant her feet. As she staggered to and fro in the lurching dinghy, it was all she could do to raise the pistol and aim. Basil righted himself, turning to her with a look of utter amazement. “What the --?” Amelia fired. The force of the shot kicked her back. Her bottom hit the side of the skiff, and with a frantic scream, she somersaulted backward into the water. The cold bay water enveloped her, tangling her skirts around her legs and weighing her down. This was much worse than before. She would drown for certain. But she had saved Quinn. He and Mary and Jon could make good their escape. As her air gave out, Amelia realized there still remained one problem. She wanted to live. When she had fallen into the harbor before, she had managed to rise to the top. Despite her water-

soaked skirts. She resolved to do it again. Her lungs felt tight, as if they would explode. Kicking her feet and thrashing her arms, Amelia somehow made her way to the top. She broke the water with a triumphant cry. Dizzy and gasping for breath, she gulped an unpleasant mouthful of saltwater. She renewed her efforts to stay afloat by flailing her arms. However, her feet were bound in her skirts and Amelia felt herself slowly sinking beneath the dark deep water of Matanzas Bay. The last thing she remembered was the sea closing over her again.

Chapter 15 “Amelia, wake up. Speak to me. You’re safe now, sweet thing.” Quinn anxiously perched on the edge of the bunk where Amelia lay, pale and still. He’d pushed water from her lungs, breathed life into her mouth. But she had yet to respond. His body was tight with tension. He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Can you

hear me, most wonderful, most beautiful, biddable sweet wife?” She did not stir. He could not detect even the flutter of an eyelash. Despairing, Quinn tried a different approach. Lifting Amelia to rest her head against his arm, he put a glass of whiskey to her lips, forcing a portion of the amber liquid down her throat. Soon with a rapid fluttering of eyelashes, she sputtered and choked to consciousness, raising a hand to her throat. He gave silent thanks to all the gods of heaven and earth. “Quinn?” She blinked her eyes as if she could not believe them. “Did you think you died and went to heaven?” he teased. “Oh, Quinn!” Rolling waves of relief washed over him as he pulled his love into his arms and crushed her against his chest. Quinn had feared the worst since he had fished her from Matanzas Bay. Her startling blue eyes widened in alarm as she pushed herself back, surveying the unfamiliar

surroundings. “Wh…what happened? Where are we?” “You are alive and well and sailing aboard Luciano de Herrera’s sloop, the Carmen R. We are quartered in the captain’s cabin. We are safe, free, and headed toward Cuba.” Straightening herself to an upright position, she looked him in the eye and lowered her voice. “Did I kill Sir Basil?” “After only one brief lesson?” he hiked an eyebrow. “You can tell me. Is he dead?” “No, sweet thing. You shot him in the leg.” “Oh, my. The leg?” She seemed disappointed, but Quinn could not be sure. “Basil fell into the bay from the opposite side of your skiff. My kindlier instincts demanded I pull your former betrothed out of the water and set him back in the boat,” he explained. “The oars were lost to the sea but he may have drifted to the dock by now.” Amelia’s mouth turned up in a small, bemused smile. Until she looked down and realized the state of her undress. “Where are my clothes?”

“Being dried on deck.” “Oh.” Settling back on the mound of pillows Quinn had collected for her, she gave a weary sigh. Quinn brushed his lips to her forehead. “You need to rest.” Her hand on his arm stayed him. She raised her eyes to his. “I cannot rest until you know the complete story.” Clasping her hand in his, he sat down beside her again. “I bargained with Basil that day in the church,” Amelia explained. “I practically gave him the plantation in return for your life. But it turned out he wanted more. He wanted the glory of capturing Patriot spies.” “He was after a medal of honor from the king, obviously.” “In my naiveté I thought he had left Saint Augustine as soon as he’d received the documents. I had no idea he was so greedy. My father had presented him to me as an honest man, a man of unquestionable integrity. “I am sorry, Quinn. Basil’s true nature took me by

surprise. Basil took me as his hostage when I ran after you.” “None of this would have happened if I had trusted you Amelia.” “But I am the enemy. How could you trust me?” “Jon and Mary knew you would not betray us,” he confessed, looking into the beautiful eyes of the enemy. “You are not the enemy. In this case my own hot temper and pride were the enemy. Will you ever be able to forgive me?” “You are forgiven.” She raised her hand to his cheek. The love shining in her eyes caused Quinn to go weak all over. His very bones melted. With the crook of his finger, Quinn gently tilted Amelia’s chin. He brought his lips down on hers for the sweetest kiss he’d ever known. “You’ve been through a harrowing experience. All you should do right now is rest,” he said softly. “I will save making love to you all the day for another time.” She answered him with a languid smile. “Making love all day. What a perfectly wonderful way to spend our time!” “Since you are with child I do not know if we—” “Quinn!” Amelia looked stricken. “Oh, Quinn ...”

“Do not fear, we will seek a doctor as soon as we reach Havana. I do not think your fall from the boat could have hurt our babe.” “No ... that is not the trouble.” She lowered her eyes. Her voice was hushed, barely audible when she spoke. “There is no babe.” “What do you mean? Basil said as much.” “It was another lie I told him intended to make the wicked man leave us alone.” A draining wave of disappointment drifted over Quinn. “There have been too many lies between us.” “It is a lie, then? We are not legally married, man and wife?” “Yes,” he acknowledged, sliding his fingers through his hair. He noticed a trace of the old spark burning in Amelia’s eyes. “But we can make our lies reality.” “Yes?” Framing her face between his palms, he looked deeply into her eyes. “I want you to be my wife. And I swear to you I will be the best husband a woman could ask for. I want to give you babies and a lifetime of love and happiness.” Tears sprung to her eyes as she gave him a

trembly smile. “I will spend my life trying, sweet thing,” he said. “I’ll start by arranging for the captain to marry us this evening.” “Marry us!” She bolted upright. “Yes. Is something wrong?” “Yes! I mean, no! What time is it?” “You have been unconscious for over an hour. It’s past six o’clock, almost time for breakfast.” “Grandmother and Sir Wallace will be boarding their ship. I intended to see them off.” “Nell and Sir Wallace only have eyes for each other. Do you think they will notice if we are absent?” “I suppose not.” She sank back into the pillows. “Do you wish you were sailing with her back to England?” She shook her head, eyes alight. “No, my heart is home with you.” Quinn drew Amelia into his arms. “Ah, sweet thing, I love you. I could not fathom how I was going to live without you.” His blood ran hot beneath the surface of his skin. “Close your eyes and rest now. I will be here at your side. Now and always.” He swung his legs on the bunk to lie beside her,

holding Amelia as she slept. **** Amelia married Quinn in her salty smelling, but dry clothes, on the deck of the Carmen B. that night as the sun set in the west. Jon and Mary looked on as Amelia vowed under balmy tropical skies to love Quinn for all the days of her life. Once again, he slipped on the ring that had once belonged to his mother and symbolized a lasting love. Beloved. At the end of the ceremony Quinn’s kiss was more than a seal of vows. His deep, demanding kiss curled her toes. And he did not release her until she began to sway unsteadily in his arms. “My husband, you have already won me,” Amelia gasped, blushing. But her embarrassment was quickly forgotten. Mary embraced her warmly. “You were so brave, Amelia. I am proud to call you my sister.” “Thank you, Mary. I love you.” “Do you remember our journey from Georgia?” “How could I forget?”

“You were terribly afraid of most everything. It seems now you have lost your fears?” “I found love.” Jon swept her into his arms. “You need more firing lessons, sister, but I will give them to you. Never fear.” Quinn pulled Amelia out of his brother’s arms. “Do not fret, Jon. I will teach my wife everything she needs to know.” Their wedding supper of simple sea fare was shared with Jon, Mary, and the captain, Hernardo Cruz. As soon as it was seemly, Quinn made their excuses, citing Amelia’s exhaustion. With a great grin that caused her heart to beat in an odd fashion, he carried his bride over the threshold of their cabin. Once inside he poured two glasses of sherry from the captain’s private stock. “To my beautiful, clever bride.” She raised her glass to his. “To my most magnificent, ingenious husband.” Chuckling, Quinn said, “There is something else you should know, Amelia.” “Is it something you should have told me before

the captain made us man and wife?” “Well ... I told you I was the son of indentured servants and farmers.” “Yes.” “That is true.” “And I am very proud to have you as my husband,” she said, raising her eyes to his. And wondering anew. She grew warm just contemplating his compelling form. Would Quinn continue to distract her in this manner as they grew old together? “I app--” “If your parents were thieves, it would make no difference to how I feel.” “Good. Because although I inherited the farm, it is Jon who does all the work and deserves to have it as his own.” “Yes? What are you trying to tell me, dear husband?” Husband. Amelia savored the word to herself. She had won the mightiest, most brave and dashing of husbands. “I love the sea and ships. Without the expense of a wife and family, I purchased several ships early on. One schooner became two, two sloops became

three.” “How many ships do you own?” “Six ships in all. I am a wealthy man, Amelia. After this war has ended you will lack for nothing. And for the present, you will live in comfort at my home in Baltimore. As you suggested, a neutral observer of this war. And afterward, I promise you that anything you desire will be yours.” “You, Quinn. You are all I desire. I need you more than the heaven needs its stars, more than the sparrow needs her song. I need you in my life forever.” His lopsided smile slowly spread to a broad, heart-stopping grin. “Come closer,” he growled softly. “Tell me again.” Quinn needed only to smile to arouse her. Feeling her blood warm and her breasts swell in anticipation of his touch, Amelia walked slowly into her rugged husband’s arms. He kissed her deeply, until she melted into him, returning his kiss with feverish need. She parted her lips, savoring his hot tongue as it plunged into the

soft recesses of her mouth. Amelia’s heart pounded madly. Her nipples tingled as she quickly removed her dress and chemise. Quinn peeled his breeches away and tossed off his linen shirt. Scooping her into his arms, Quinn’s burning emerald gaze locked on hers. The fire inside her flamed. “Quickly, Quinn, quickly,” she breathed. The need for him overwhelmed her. Desire bubbled in her veins, swirling in a simmering pool between her thighs. Her skin tingled. Quinn carried Amelia to the small bed. Caressing, stroking, nuzzling his lips to her throat and to her ear, he stoked the fire inside her. She splayed her fingers against the crisp curls of his broad, muscular chest. Her hungry lips sought his as her hands drifted downward. Quinn groaned as she stroked him. “I love you, Amelia. I’ve loved you from the first.” Quinn’s husky whisper in her ear was thick with desire. “I will love you always.” “Quinn ... my love ...” She crooned the words as her breath came in uneven gasps. Their journey had just begun.

Parting her thighs and arching her back, she urged her husband to become one with her. But he needed no prodding. With a groan of ecstasy, Quinn swiftly buried himself deeply in her sweet, moist valley. Amelia shuddered as each thrust carried her to a new dimension, where she floated in a kaleidoscope of colors and sound, where the music of the masters played in her mind. One with her husband at last. One heart, one soul, one everlasting love. She would never be alone again. Amelia had truly become Liberty’s bride.

About the Author Sandra Madden enjoyed a lengthy career as a broadcast copy/promotional writer in Miami and Los Angeles. But her most rewarding work followed as a writer/producer/host for a Miami PBS television station where she focused on How-To series, public affairs - of the political kind - and women's issues. She began writing historical romance in the evenings and was first published in 1998. Sandra went on to write contemporary romance as well and is the author of 13 books. Her 14th book, is nonfiction - the memoir of her husband, actor Dave Madden, best known to television viewers for his role as Reuben Kincaid on The Partridge Family. Ms. Madden is the mother of two adult children and grandmother to four beautiful granddaughters.

Publishing Information Copyright © 1998 by Sandra Madden Originally published by Zebra [0821761722] Electronically published in 2011 by Belgrave House ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228 http://www.BelgraveHouse.com Electronic sales: [email protected] This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.