Free The Turncoat by Donna Thorland Page A

Mount Holly. The man had lingered there for three days, enjoying the lady’s favors, when he might have brought his men to reinforce Trenton. The dalliance let Washington slip across the Delaware on Christmas and take the town. The capture of Trenton and of Colonel Rall’s garrison of a thousand Hessians and their field artillery had been disastrous, and had all but destroyed Donop’s reputation.
    “Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” André said, hardly troubling to disguise his contempt.
    “I won’t allow it until there is no other recourse,” Howe barked. “It’s throwing away lives to attack by land if we can’t bring our ships to bear on the fort at the same time.”
    “Hessian lives,” added André, as though these were of less consequence.
    “How can I be of help?” Tremayne asked. “I’m no sailor, and I’m no engineer.”
    “Washington has anticipated our every move against his river fortifications, rushing reinforcements to our exact points of attack. Mrs. Ferrers is here, supplying him with information. I require you to find her, and deal with her.”
    “Quietly,” added André.
    “I see.” Tremayne bristled. “You wish me to be an assassin?”
    “Not at all. We wish you”—André began to tie his cravat—“to discover Mrs. Ferrers and her agents. When you do so, you will be returned to command. I will do the rest.”
    “It’s a generous offer,” Tremayne conceded. “May I think about it?”
    “No.” Howe had lost all trace of avuncular jollity. “We are a month away from being starved out of the city, Major. Do you know what would happen to this army if we had to march twenty thousand men and another five thousand loyal civilians through Rebel territory to New York? It would be a slaughter. Mrs. Ferrers is in Philadelphia. It is your duty to find her and lead us to her. The woman almost ruined you. You need have no gentlemanly scruples in this matter. Her capture and…removal…are of the utmost importance to me. Is that clear?”
    It was. All too clear. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
    “Good!” Howe seemed his merry self again. He led Tremayne back into the house, where the petite blonde reappeared and attached herself to Captain André like a limpet. “Now, for the other matter I spoke of. You and Bayard Caide are cousins, I believe.”
    Tremayne made no effort to clarify the relationship. They were, in the eyes of the law, cousins. What else they might be was a source of speculation and gossip for London society. Viewed from a certain angle, the two men looked more alike than cousins.
    “Yes. We grew up together.”
    “He’s always been wild,” Howe added, as the man they were discussing came into view, wrestling with a fellow officer on the cold marble floor of the carved and painted foyer, beneath the wide and elegant curved staircase.
    “Yes,” Tremayne agreed.
    “Wild is to be expected. Milkmaids don’t win battles. But cruel we cannot tolerate. We are losing the people.” Howe gestured at the crowd with his wineglass. “Don’t be fooled by the fops who have attached themselves to the army. This is a country of dour Quakers and Puritan farmers. His ruthlessness has come in handy at times, but he’s a blunt instrument. His raids are stirring up sentiment against us, and we have precious little goodwill here. If we do have to evacuate the city, you can be sure the locals will not forgive us your cousin’s actions.”
    “What would you like me to do?” Tremayne thought back on all the years of his childhood spent covering for Bay. For the girls he ruined, the fights he got into, the servants he beat. And his mind turned inevitably to the farmhouse today…
    “I like Caide. I don’t want to come down hard on him. Just get him to the altar as fast as you can. His fiancée’s a lovely little thing. Maybe marriage will tame him.”
    Not, reflected Tremayne, if the girl was as described—a nascent sybarite with a wild streak to match Caide’s own.
    “Ah!”