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  An ironic laugh escaped his lips. She would be horrified if she knew what her sister was up to. Cor, but she had surprised him. He had always intended to seduce her, but she had come willingly into his arms. She would be a useful tool. Her beauty could be used to snare other men to his advantage. His plans were shaping up nicely.

  He scowled. Why couldn’t Hannah look at him with the same adoration Lydia did? She baffled him. And that Captain Meredith in her house. He did not care for the man or the way his Hannah looked at him. The sooner he was out of there, the better. Lydia said he was a Tory. It seemed odd that Hannah would allow a loyalist to reside in her home with her strong pro-revolution views, but she had always had a strange sense of duty. All the more reason to get him out of there.

  He was still a bit miffed that his ploy to drive off the “attacking” ship had not met with more success. He had genuinely thought Hannah would be so grateful she would forget past grievances. But some women held grudges. Look at his mother. She had never forgiven him for shooting his pony when he was twelve. Always hovering and demanding to know where he was and what he was doing. It had nearly driven him mad. But now he answered to no man. Or woman, even though Lydia might think differently.

  CHAPTER 9

  Hannah awoke with a start. Her heart pounded, but she wasn’t quite sure why. Something had awakened her. She could see the glow from the lighthouse, so all was well there. She rolled over to go back to sleep and heard a sound. Squeak, squeak. It sounded like someone creeping up the steps. The footfalls paused, then continued stealthily up the stairs. Fear tightened her throat. Who could be sneaking up the steps at this hour? She had looked in on Lydia about two and seen her huddled shape beneath the blankets. Birch could not climb steps yet; he still slept in the small bedroom downstairs.

  She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door. Putting her ear to the door, she listened intently. Was that breathing? Her mouth dry with dread, she seized the loaded musket propped beside the door. Easing the door open, she peered down the dark corridor. Nothing. She stepped into the hall, then slipped silently toward the stairs.

  A figure nearly collided with her at the stop of the steps, and she barely managed to squelch the scream that bubbled up in her throat. The other person let out a shriek that clearly identified her.

  Her fear was replaced with concern and a touch of anger. “Lydia, what are you doing?” Hannah took her sister’s arm and dragged her back to the master bedroom. She rushed to light the candle on her bedside table. Holding it up, she turned to look at her sister.

  It took a moment for her appearance to sink in. She was completely dressed. Although a cloak hid most of her attire, Hannah caught a glimpse of the blue satin gown she’d worn to Mother Thomas’s. Her slippers were wet and muddy, and she avoided Hannah’s gaze.

  Rage and a sense of betrayal vied for Hannah’s emotions. Rage won first. She took Lydia’s arm and propelled her to her own room. She pushed open the door, went to the bed, and threw back the covers. A rolled-up quilt had simulated Lydia’s form in the bed. No wonder she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

  Hannah wanted to scream at her sister, to tear her hair out by the roots. “You have been with Galen, have you not?”

  Lydia dropped her head, then raised shining eyes to meet her gaze. “Yes, I have. I love him and he loves me, Hannah.” She turned away and pulled off her cloak. “You need not look so shocked. You have always known how I felt about Galen. I have loved him since I was ten years old, but he was always too smitten with you to notice me. Mother thought if you married him, his money would lift us all from that ramshackle cottage. If not for that, he would have noticed me and not you. Well, he noticed me tonight.” She gave a silvery laugh and began to take the hairpins from her hair.

  Hannah shuddered at the triumph in her sister’s voice. “Lydia, what have you done?” she whispered. She was afraid of the answer. Lydia looked different, more adult, somehow. Bile rose in Hannah’s throat, and she struggled against the nausea. This couldn’t be what it appeared. Surely Lydia had merely spoken with Galen. Just because she’d been gone for hours didn’t mean something more had happened. But even as she tried to reassure herself, she knew the truth. She read it in Lydia’s tousled hair and guilty air.

  “I have done nothing but lay claim to the man I love,” Lydia said in a pleading voice. “Please try to understand. We shall be married when this war is over. Galen has promised that we will make our home in London. I shall be presented at court.”

  Hannah felt light-headed. How could something like this happen to her baby sister? “I forbid you to have anything to do with Galen Wright!” Hannah seized her sister by the arms and shook her. “I forbid it! Hear me well, Sister. If you disobey me in this, I shall send you back to Charles Town.” Their parents would blame her, not Lydia. She was the elder. She should have watched over her better.

  Lydia’s gaze sharpened with anger. “You forbid? I am a woman grown, Hannah. I love whom I love, just as you did when you married John. What makes you think you can forbid me this love I bear?”

  Hannah quivered with outrage and shame. “He is not honorable, Lydia.” If her sister knew how dishonorable, she would never have allowed him to touch her.

  The anger faded, with an expression of genuine curiosity taking its place. “You are always making comments about Galen. I do not understand your distrust. He has done nothing but treat you kindly. What kind of Christian are you that you would be so hateful to him?”

  “You talk to me of Christ! A strumpet who comes from a rake’s bed? Do not bother to deny it. I can see the truth in your face.” The shock of that truth nearly broke her heart. “What do you think our Lord would say of what you have done this night?”

  A flush traveled up her sister’s neck and cheeks. She dropped her gaze. “He would surely understand my love.”

  “Fornication, the Bible calls it, Lydia. Real love does not seek out sin.” She softened her tone. Lydia was still a child, only sixteen. Surely she did not understand the magnitude of her sin. “Real love seeks that which is good and helpful to the object of caring. Perhaps you sought to show your love to Galen, but if he truly loved you, he would not have taken the gift that should have been reserved for the marriage bed.”

  Lydia burst into tears. She threw herself into Hannah’s arms. “I love him so much! I ache with this love I bear him. In truth, I knew it was wrong, but I could not help myself.” Noisy sobs shook her shoulders.

  Hannah held her while a slow anger burned inside. Galen had taken advantage of Lydia’s childish infatuation. How could she salvage something of this mess? What if Lydia was with child? Hannah grew nauseated at the thought. Please, Lord. Please make it not so.

  She patted Lydia’s back until her sister finally pulled away and wiped her wet cheeks. “Bid me not give him up, Hannah. I cannot do it,” she whispered.

  What could she say? Nothing would change her sister’s mind. Instead of answering, she went to the door. “I must check the lights. Go then to bed.” She closed the door and went wearily down the hall to her own room. Somehow she must save Lydia from this obsession with an evil man.

  She pulled on her brown linsey-woolsey dress and shoes. Slipping down the steps, she saw Birch through the open bedroom door. Their argument had not roused him from sleep. Good. It was her problem, not Birch’s. He had intervened and defused Lydia’s restless anger on more than one occasion, but this was something he couldn’t fix.

  The drying leaves crunched beneath her feet and released their fragrance as she hurried down the path to the lighthouse. Frost limned the rosebushes and grass, and her breath fogged the cold air. Winter crouched at the door, and she hated to see it come. Why did she stay here now that John was dead? Why did she put herself through the torment of facing her mother-in-law? She should go back to Charles Town, she and Lydia both. But the thought held no appeal either.

  What was left in Charles Town for her? A drunken father and a distant mother, a younger sister she did
n’t really know. Her parents’ poor example had instilled a fierce desire to be accountable, to stand when others would fall. She couldn’t abandon her post.

  She had a small inheritance from John, but it was too little to sustain her without the lighthouse-keeper salary. If he had lived, they would have inherited the family money, but that would now go to Olive and her husband, if Mother Thomas ever found someone willing to wed her daughter. She could do nothing but remain in this place.

  Climbing the spiraling staircase, the cold metal of the handrail numbed her hand, and the windswept light tower was even colder. Hannah hugged her arms and stared out over the dark water. Would she ever have a chance to venture onto the ocean herself, or would she be forever condemned to scurry along the seashore like a misplaced crab? Why couldn’t she have been born a man? Then she could have sought her fortune on board a ship as Birch did.

  Lights twinkled offshore and she frowned. It was likely Galen’s ship. When he had shown up last night, she thought it was a nightmare come to life. She often awoke trembling with his face in her mind. Once she had been like Lydia, blind to the corruption that lay under the surface of Galen’s good looks. Hannah sighed.

  She gave herself a mental shake and turned to polish the glass in the lantern. This was important work, though tedious. Only when she reached heaven would she know how many men had been saved by her light. She did not shine her spiritual light nearly as well. Was it her fault Lydia had fallen? If she had been a better example, perhaps Lydia could have resisted temptation. Hannah straightened her shoulders.

  Birch was up and stirring porridge on the fire when she got back inside. He was dressed in his breeches and waistcoat, but he had not tied his hair back yet. With it loose on his shoulders, he looked even more the pirate she thought him.

  She approached the welcome warmth of the fire and rubbed her hands together. “Good morrow, Captain.”

  He glanced up from his task. “Good morrow. How do you fare this morn?”

  “Quite well. Does your leg pain you?”

  “I shall take off the splint and see if it will support me.”

  Hannah frowned. “It has only been four weeks.”

  He nodded. “But it feels whole and strong. Your good food has mended it well.”

  Indeed, he did look manly and virile. It was time for him to be gone too. Daily she found herself more drawn to him. And that would never do, even if she waited a suitable time before remarrying. Their views would never mesh. He prowled the coast and brought supplies to help England. One day his ship might be asked to aid in destroying her lighthouse.

  He was a hard man to read. His dark good looks drew her yet frightened her all at the same time. Black hair and eyes with that devil-may-care expression in them. Quiet and strong, but with many secrets he held close. In these past weeks she had learned little about him. What did his family think of his life? His expression became grim and forbidding whenever his family was mentioned.

  “Was Lydia out in the night?”

  How much had he heard? He obviously hadn’t been asleep as she’d thought. “Yes.” Shame caused her to drop her eyes. The blame was hers not Lydia’s.

  “That Galen fellow, I presume?”

  She nodded and knelt to stir the porridge.

  “I do not trust him.”

  Startled, she looked up. “You are perceptive, Captain. He is like a tree full of termites.”

  “Lydia doesn’t see this?”

  Hannah shook her head. “She thinks me too harsh in my assessment. I have good reasons.”

  “Have you told her of these reasons?”

  Heat flushed her face and she bent her head again to hide it. She swung the iron pole that suspended the pot of porridge away from the fire and picked up the wooden ladle. “I have told no one. They are mine to bear and mine alone.” She could never tell the full story. The shame would be too great.

  “Sometimes troubles are lessened with the sharing.”

  She carried the bowls to the table and poured milk from the pitcher before answering. “Some troubles cannot be shared.” His dark eyes softened at her admission. She was touched he seemed to care.

  He dropped his gaze and hopped to the table with his crutches. “This I know well.”

  They ate in silence. Hannah kept stealing glances at his strong jaw. Tendrils of dark hair curled against his neck. What was he thinking? Was he offended she could not share her problems with him? He had told her so little of himself, he had no right to any offense at her own circumspection.

  He scraped the last of the porridge from the bowl. “I will try the leg without the splint now.”

  “Let me help you.” She went to her sewing basket and found scissors. He stretched his leg before him, and she carefully snipped the bindings holding the splint in place. He sighed when the bandage fell away.

  Leaning forward, he kneaded the white and flaky flesh of his leg. “The itching has driven me nearly mad.”

  Hannah tilted her head and looked at his leg. It seemed to be straight and strong. “Can you stand?”

  “Let me see.” He gripped the edge of the table and pushed himself up.

  She handed him the crutch. “Go lightly at first. Don’t put your full weight on it until you see if it will support you.”

  He took the crutch and carefully leaned part of his weight on the healing leg. A grimace of pain marred his features, but he bit his lip and his expression became stoic once again. He limped back and forth across the kitchen. With every step Hannah could see the pain lessening.

  “I think you should use the crutch or a cane for a few weeks.”

  He nodded. “Aye.’Twill help.” He dropped back into his chair and massaged his leg again. “You’ve been a good nurse, Mistress Hannah. But it’s time I relinquish your hospitality and got back to New York.”

  “New York? I thought you would sail back to England and find another ship.” A spreading dismay troubled her. She knew it was time for him to leave. He was becoming too important to her.

  “I have a job in a merchant’s office awaiting me in New York.”

  She could not imagine this darkly rugged man in an office. He belonged on the prow of a ship with the sea breeze in his face. “Surely you jest.”

  He shook his head. “I must serve where I am most needed.”

  “How can you serve England?” She could have bitten her tongue at the words. They’d been having such a pleasant morning. But she just didn’t understand. He seemed so honorable, so strong and upright. How could he support the British cause to keep the colonies in bondage?

  “There is a duty you do not understand, mistress.”

  His dark eyes probed her face, and their gazes locked. She knew she could not sway him from his purpose. For a moment Hannah felt as though she could look into his soul. There was a loneliness, a hunger there she recognized in herself as well. What was this connection she felt for him? She had no business feeling anything for him, not even compassion, let alone this yearning.

  With a gasp she tore her gaze away and stood. “I cry you mercy for prying, Captain. What you do is your own business.”

  Was that disappointment on his face? She swallowed hard and gathered up the bowls and spoons to wash them.

  “Will you miss me, Mistress Hannah? I will miss our sparring.” Lazy amusement filled his voice.

  Had he seen the longing she felt? Her cheeks burned with mortification. “You shall find another dog to kick. Others who despise loyalists will soon give you pause.”

  He limped closer and put his hands on her shoulders. At his touch she went rigid. The heat of his fingers soaked through the cloth of her gown and into her skin. He stood so closely, she could smell the scent of the soap he’d used in his morning wash. She curled her fingers around the bowls and kept her head down. If she looked at him, she knew she would fling herself against his broad chest and beg him to stay. He reached around and took the dishes from her, then turned her to face him.

  “And do you despise me,
Mistress Hannah?” His breath whispered across her face, and he tipped her chin up to search the depths of her eyes. Their gazes locked once again, and Hannah was lost. He rubbed his thumb across her jaw and bent his head. His lips barely brushed her own. Hannah closed her eyes and breathed in the male scent of his skin as his lips settled more firmly against her own.

  He pulled away and searched her eyes again. “Hannah, I—”

  “What are you doing with my sister?”

  Hannah sprang away guiltily at Lydia’s shrill voice. Her sister stood with her hands planted on her hips. Her accusing glare shamed Hannah. What had she been thinking to allow Birch to take such familiarities with her? Tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

  She swallowed. “Would you like some breakfast, Lydia?”

  Lydia was not about to be diverted. “It’s a good thing I came down when I did.”

  “Lydia, mind yourself.” Hannah sent a warning glance at her sister.

  “Captain, I see you are no longer on crutches. I think it is time you were on your way.”

  “You are probably right, Miss Lydia,” he said with an enigmatic glance at Hannah. “I seem to have overstayed my welcome.”

  CHAPTER 10

  NOVEMBER 15, 1776

  Their infant nation was four months old. Birch had managed to hear snippets of how the war was going from Hannah, but he wasn’t sure how accurate her news was. He suspected she colored it with hope for the cause of the colonials, and he needed to know the full truth. Even with her rosy outlook, it appeared the Continental Army was faltering. Men from Plymouth said the British had taken control of New Jersey. If that was true, he needed to get to New York and do all he could.

  There was no longer an excuse to stay on the outskirts of this small village. Then why was he so reluctant to leave? He refused to entertain the thought that Hannah’s green eyes had anything to do with it. He had no time for a woman in his life. Not until this war was over and Major Hugh Montgomery hung from the nearest gibbet. Birch would have justice for his brother’s death at the man’s hand.