Free Fires of Delight by Vanessa Royall Page A

a moment later. He must have a good reason for being in possession of those things, and he must have had a good reason for placing them out of sight .
    Who wouldn’t hide a fortune?
    Besides which, the pouch was none of her business. Trust must exist between lovers, or their relationship is surely founded upon quicksand, or worse. He must have a good reason, she reassured herself. He’ll tell me about the pouch if it is something that concerns me.
    Still, she was a little perturbed, and when Royce awoke a short time later, he asked her why she seemed so pensive.
    “Just feeling lonely,” she fabricated, going to him, and when he took her again she forgot all about the bag of gold and jewels. Indeed, Royce gave her another fortune in gems, which danced in colored lights behind her closed eyelids, as with his body, strong from sleep, he sorcerered her dazzled flesh once again. Selena, still luxuriating in the ebb of previous pleasure, felt every sensation more keenly this time. With her fingers clinging to his shoulders, his back, with her head, her wild hair, whipping from side to side, she thought she could not bear it, and writhed as if trying to cast him off. But the thrashing, turning, twisting only increased the power and the splendor of delight, and when the glowing rush did come for both of them, when she squeezed him with her body as tightly as she could, he had to muffle her sobbing cries with a gentle hand.
    “If Lieutenant Oakley has ears to hear”—Royce smiled after they had collapsed in glorified exhaustion next to each other—“he could hear you all the way to the fortress.”
    “Oakley!” she pronounced, her loathing for the man reborn, and while Royce dressed she told him of the lieutenant’s strange nature, the balance between savage fanatacism and professed love of truth and beauty that existed within him. Royce was surprised to hear of the paintings, but suggested that talent often coexisted with mania.
    “In Oakley’s case,” he said, “it may be that the dark side has the upper edge, perhaps due to his unfortunate visage. A person serene of soul looks out upon a world of color and light, and the world reflects back those same qualities. But if it is otherwise, the world may seem very black indeed.”
    “All I know is that I am afraid the lieutenant will pursue me to the ends of the earth. He as much as said so. Something about beauty, beauty and truth, and there being a bond between us.”
    “Then we shall break that bond,” vowed Royce, going to the window. “I wish Penrod would hurry, but it may be difficult to slip through the British.”
    “If I’m captured,” said Selena in jest, recalling Royce’s words with the horseman on the pier, “you’ll doubtless have to share the reward money.”
    “Not bloody likely,” he shot back, matching her tone, “you know I’d want it all for myself.”
    His words brought back to mind the pouch of sovereigns and gems, and Selena fell suddenly silent.
    Gilbertus Penrod, dressed in his fine business clothes of handmade linen, wearing a silk shirt and carrying a pearl-knobbed walking stick, entered the room worriedly just before noon. He also had with him a traveling bag of supple, expensive leather, and after greeting Royce and kissing Selena, he set the bag on the table.
    “This will have to do, I’m afraid,” he said. “There are redcoats on the streets of lower Manhattan today. I won’t be able to make the trip again without arousing unnecessary suspicion.”
    Penrod opened the bag and began to remove a set of clothing. “Royce,” he continued, “I knew you had an officer’s uniform, so I decided it would be best to outfit Selena as your manservant.” He set upon the table a pair of knee-length breeches, black stockings, buckled shoes, white shirt, gray woolen jacket, and a black hat with a small crown and flat, circular brim.
    Selena gazed doubtfully at the clothing—drab was rather the word for it—but Royce was