by Lyndi Lamont

Her hand trembled as she set down the candle holder and bent to examine the papers stacked on the table. She scanned them, hoping to find something of importance, but to no avail. Nothing to tell of future plans against the Americans.

The room had grown chilly, making her shiver. She glanced toward the hearth, wishing she could light a fire, and noticed several crumpled pieces of paper lying in the grate. She grabbed the candle and moved over to investigate. One, an unfinished letter to Major Tyrell's father, she crumpled and returned to the grate.

A chill ran down her spine and her heart pounded as she read the other two pages. They were plans for batteries to guard the approaches to the city along the Delaware River. These papers could be important information. Or they could be rejected plans. She had no way of knowing, but perhaps someone at Washington's headquarters would. Carefully she straightened the pages, then folded them and secreted them in the pocket of her wrapper.

She stood, intending to return to her own chamber, when she realized that Major Tyrell might notice they were gone. Perhaps she should light a fire after all, to cover her tracks. He might not mind coming back to a warm room.

She grabbed the flint and lit his discarded letter for kindling, watching as the wood in the grate caught the fire. The warmth felt good and she stretched out her hands toward the flames.

Too late she heard Major Tyrell's tread on the stairs. Panic filled her as she realized she was trapped in his bedchamber. If she rushed back to her own room, he might catch her, and know she’d been in his room. What possible reason could she give for being here?

A thrill of frightened anticipation touched her spine. There was but one role that would save her, that of seductress.

But was it a role she could play convincingly? She had never lain with any man but her husband, and now her life depended on how well she could act the wanton.

With racing heart and trembling hands, she removed her wrapper and night shift, draped them on his chair, then unbraided her hair and shook it free. At least she could look the wanton. She climbed into bed, pulled the sheet up to her waist and prayed for the courage to play her part well in the coming farce.

© 2006 by Lyndi Lamont

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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