Free Fires of Delight by Vanessa Royall Page B

pleased.
    “Wise choice, Gil,” he said. “All officers have boys to serve as valets and wait on their personal needs. I don’t know if Selena will take kindly to being a boy, however.”
    “I’ll do the best I can,” she promised, as the two men laughed.
    “I also brought,” said Penrod, reaching into the bag again, “sustenance!”
    He showed them a bottle of wine, a smaller container of brandy, a long, thick stick of hard salami, a metal can full of hardtack, and a jar of strawberry jam. “Best I could do,” he said.
    “Splendid,” said Royce.
    “What are your plans?” the other man asked.
    “We’ll hole up here until dark, slip out, make our way to the west side, and hire a boat to take us up the Hudson. We’ll cross Westchester into Connecticut and then proceed to the Selena in Newport.”
    “How does it feel to have a ship named for you?” Penrod asked Selena.
    She pressed herself against Royce, smiling. “It depends on who’s done the naming. In this case I’ll accept the honor.”
    He put his arm around her. “Gil, I’m a little low on funds…”
    This statement surprised Selena as she knew about the sack of gems. She was almost certain now that something was going on about which she did not know and which she wasn’t at all sure she’d like.
    “I understand,” Penrod said. He pulled a thick, alligator-hide wallet from his waistcoat pocket, and counted out a number of bills. “Here’re both British notes and Continental Congress paper. You’ll be ready for either eventuality.
    “Well, I guess that’s it,” he added, facing them. “I’d best slip out now. Godspeed.”
    The two men shook hands warmly, the hearty grip of comradeship, which is also male affection. Penrod leaned over and bussed Selena lightly on the lips.
    “Don’t let go of him this time,” he advised tenderly.
    “Never again,” said Selena.
    Penrod crossed to the door, then turned. “Oh, Selena, I almost forgot. I gave you that cross in prison yesterday because I was afraid the British would take it…”
    “Yes?” said Selena, who thought he meant that he hadn’t wanted the English to have Erasmus Ward’s last possession. She pulled the sheet she wore a little way down from her neck. “Here it is. I’m wearing it in honor and memory of him.”
    It happened very quickly, but Selena was sure she saw Penrod and Royce exchange a veiled glance.
    “It’s all right, Gil,” Royce said. “The cross is in good hands. Or should I say around a fine neck?”
    “Absolutely,” agreed the businessman, nodding. It was as if the two men were discussing something, something quite important too, beyond Selena’s ken.
    Penrod left then, and Selena set about preparing a breakfast of brandy, hardtack, and strawberry preserves.
    “Is there some significance to this cross?” she asked, keeping her voice even, as if she were not at all interested.
    “Of course not,” replied Royce, with a similar—and equally feigned—insouciance. “Why on earth would you think a thing like that?”
    Selena almost—almost—brought the issue to a head then and there, the issue of the cross and the gems. Later she would wishthat she had, but she didn’t. They had a gay breakfast during which Royce allowed that sometime in the future they would be sailing to Europe. But such a trip seemed so far away, the brandy was heady and sweet, and he was hers.
    When he slipped the sheet from her shoulders and breasts, she shuddered. And when he drew it down over the swell of her hips and let it fall to the floor—dropping to his knees as he did so—she closed her eyes, threw back her head, and made a strange involuntary sound of wonder, almost a snarl.
    “Don’t move,” he ordered hoarsely. “Feel everything. I want you to enjoy every bit of sensation.”
    She obeyed until nearly the end, as he worshipped her with his lips and mouth and tongue, sending quicksilver flashes of startling raw pleasure throughout her body. She obeyed, and did