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“Stockton is becoming too possessive of you, and such a danger I cannot allow.”
Pulling her bottom lip through her teeth, Hannah watched her shoes take turns peeking from her petticoat as she walked. Perhaps her pretended coyness was too convincing, even if she did so only to gain more trust, in hope of Stockton spilling his secrets.
Joseph helped her back onto the wagon, then stood there, looking up at her with such yearning in his eyes she could do nothing but fall helplessly into their blue depths.
“Do not go with him.” It seemed almost pleading, the way he spoke. “For your safety, I must beg it of you.”
She would have answered him anything. But somehow, in that moment as he gazed up at her, another vision slid between them.
Ensign.
Mouth open, ready to answer his request, she clamped her mouth closed and dropped her gaze.
“Hannah…”
She swallowed, trying to free herself from the image that waved unfalteringly before her.
He rested his hand atop hers. “You do not have to risk your life simply because he gave his.”
She raised her now-burning eyes to his, embarrassed at how suddenly the memory had accosted her. “If I do not, how are we to remain in Stockton’s trust? How are we to get what knowledge we—”
The grip to her fingers stilled her voice, while his took its place. “We shall find a way. Perhaps here and now, we shall know in what way our army may proceed, and you can at last find safety away from the foundry.”
He slipped his hand from hers and rounded the wagon, at her side again in only a handful of seconds. Gently flicking the reins, he glanced to her. “I’ve a mind not to take you back.”
“What?” The cold mist tickled the hairs around her ear, and she held firm to the cloak tied at her neck. “What do you mean? Are you in earnest?”
Joseph directed the horses left. “If we continue in this much longer, I fear Stockton will not let you go.”
“Not let me go?”
His jaw worked, his next confession slicing her clear through.
“I plan to arrange for someone to take you back to camp.”
“What?” The horses’ ears swiveled back as her voice echoed through the trees. She turned in her seat and reined in her volume, shock riding her words. “Joseph, you cannot do that.”
He shook his head. “I should not have allowed this in the first place, and after today—Hannah, that man is dangerous. I won’t have you scribing for him, and I certainly won’t have you attending a ball with him.”
“He believes I am spoken for. I doubt that—”
“You think that will dissuade him from increasing his attentions to you?”
Shameful heat pricked her ears, and she moved her gaze away as he continued.
“’Tis too familiar, Hannah. If you continue to accept such offers, he shall begin to think you favor him, and what then?”
Hannah stared at her knees, studying the homespun fabric of her petticoat. The creak of the wagon, the muffled clomp of the horses’ hooves on the road seemed to tap the sliver of truth ever deeper into her flesh. Joseph was right, of course. She’d known Stockton’s attentions were gaining intensity, but she was ignorant of the severity. Was she not supposed to be a Tory? Was she not supposed to pretend all politeness and respect for the army so she could pry from them their best-held secrets?
Another thought shoved her so hard she gripped the edge of the seat. Perhaps Joseph simply wished to be rid of her? Like a radiating summer heat, the memory of their almost kiss warmed through her. He didn’t seem to dislike her presence, but then again she didn’t really know him, did she? It had been ten years since they’d last loved, and to think she could still read the quirk of his mouth or the slope of his posture was ridiculous.
Then, as if her voice was not her own, the truth jumped from her lips like an innocent from prison. “I don’t want to leave.”
He peered at her, the movement of his head and eyes toward her, though slight, carried a weight far deeper than his expression could contain. Deep and soft, his gaze washed over her like a calming pool. As if he knew her meaning even when she herself fully did not, he quirked his head to the side, his smile at that slant that made her stomach weightless.
“But you must.”
“Why?” She swerved against the seat, her knees touching his legs. “Joseph, Eaton Hill is my home. I refuse to allow those barbarians to destroy it.”
