Captives' Charade Read Free Page B

practically jump out of her skin. It came from a wrought iron bench, beneath a large oak tree. The bench was partially hidden by a hedgerow deep within the garden maze. Before she saw the shadowy form of the man, she spied the dull glow of a pleasantly scented cheroot.
    “Y-you startled me,” she gasped, her knees turning liquid with the knowledge that the man speaking was none other than the one occupying her thoughts.
    “Please, sit down,” he beckoned, rising to make room for her on the curved loveseat. Now she could see his face reflected in the torches lighting the path. Again it had a devastating effect as her heart beat madly within her rising breast.
    “Thank you, but ....” she hesitated, desperate for an excuse. “I-I am afraid I have grown chilled. I forgot my shawl.”
    Before she could turn, Stewart had laid his cigar to rest on the bench, had removed his beautifully made tailcoat, and was bringing it around her shoulders. His actions forced her closer to him. To escape she had no alternative but to sit down. “Better?” he murmured pleasantly.
    “Thankyou,”shewhispered,anunrulypart of her enjoying the fabric, the scent, and the heat of his body still lingering within the folds. The sensations were having a strange effect on her composure.
    He resumed his seat next to her, nonchalantly stretching his quite long legs in front of him as he took another puff on the slender cigar. “I had not expected to have such an opportunity to make your acquaintance this evening,” he said after a moment. “Your father was quite gracious to invite me on such short notice.”
    “Are you staying in Town?” Sarah asked politely, referring to London, surprised that her tone sounded normal. The man certainly was impossible to ignore.
    “I have been ... until today. Your father and I are going into business together. We are attempting to arrange a trade cartel of American and British businessmen. Do you know something of this?”
    She did indeed, but his question surprised her. Most men assumed, and rightfully so, that young ladies knew nothing of what the men in their families did for a living. A woman was a pleasant diversion, necessary species. Few women cared, and fewer still were educated enough to discuss business or politics on anything but the most superficial level. Sarah found the manager of the home, and a partner in the perpetuation of the herself warming to the opportunity of discussing with this man a subject that interested her greatly.
    “My father and I have discussed it on numerous occasions,” she told him matter-offactly. “Ever since the Orders in Council were enacted two years ago, we advocated some sort of trade pact between the British and the Colonists, to maintain freedom of trade. Of course,” she added, “the Yankee blockade runners were doing an admirable job for a time, despite our restrictions.” She smiled provocatively
    He tipped an imaginary hat, grinning in shared amusement, “I ask you, what choice did we have? If we wanted to trade with Europe, we had to suffer Britain’s ‘privilege’ of inspecting our cargo beforehand. Your government would have been more honest had they hijacked us on the high seas,” he scoffed.
    “You have to understand our problem with France,” she insisted. “You Americans fail to recognize the principle here, thinking you can trade with anyone, regardless of politics. France is our sworn enemy. You can’t have it both ways, Mr. Chamberlain.”
    “Sowehavebeenshown,”hechuckled mirthlessly, taking a puff of his slim cigar while he stretched his long body more comfortably on the bench.
    The urge to needle him was strong, “Actually I would say your own President Jefferson was a greater problem to you than the French or the British,” she offered boldly.
    Stewart suddenly leaned forward enthusiastically. “Ah yes,” he agreed. “The Embargo Act. I would be much farther along in my business dealings if it were not for that. Imagine,