To Taste Temptation (Legend of the Four Soldiers #1)(33)

“I didn’t betray us,” Vale said. He was standing casually now, yet the man looked as if he were ready to attack.

Sam tensed.

At the same time, Rebecca touched his shoulder. “Come away, Samuel. Please come away.” And he saw that she was trying not to cry. God, what had he done?

“You didn’t seem insane six years ago when I knew you,” Vale said conversationally. “What makes you think we were betrayed?”

Sam eyed him. Vale had the type of face that one instinctively trusted, a funny, open countenance habitually wrapped in a smile. Of course, Sam had known several men who smiled when they killed. “You were in debt to Lieutenant Clemmons. Everyone knew that.”

“So?”

“So, Clemmons died in the massacre, effectively nullifying the debt.”

Vale gave an incredulous bark of laughter. “You think I killed two hundred and forty-six men so I wouldn’t have to pay my debt to Clemmons? You are mad.”

Maybe he was. Rebecca stood crying behind him, and Lady Emeline was watching him warily as if he might suddenly try to climb the walls. Vale stared at him with no fear in his eyes.

Sam remembered how the viscount had looked that day, astride his horse, trying to reach Colonel Darby through the mess of fighting men. The bay had been shot out from under Vale, and Sam had seen him jump clear of the falling horse. Stand and open wide his mouth in a battle cry Sam hadn’t heard, swing his sword savagely, and watch in despair as Darby was pulled from his own horse and killed. And then Vale had continued fighting even as the battle was clearly lost.

Sam should be apologizing to Vale and backing away. This man couldn’t be the traitor. But something inside whispered, A brave man isn’t necessarily an honest man. MacDonald had been a brave soldier, too, before his arrest. Deep in his belly, Sam needed to find out the truth of Spinner’s Falls.

Lady Emeline shook herself as if coming out of a trance and marched to the doors, her small back militantly straight. A footman was lingering there, gawking at the spectacle, and she pointed at him. “You. Bring some wine and biscuits, please. Thank you.” And she firmly closed the doors on his face.

“Is that all you have?” Vale asked. “My gambling debts led you to believe that I’d betrayed our regiment, then had myself captured by Indians and Reynaud killed?”

Lady Emeline flinched. Vale didn’t seem to notice.

Sam hadn’t wanted to speak of this in front of her, but now it was inevitable. “There was a letter detailing our plans to march to Fort Edward. It included a map with drawings that could be deciphered by the Indians.”

Vale leaned against the rail. “How do you know about this letter?”

“I have it.”

Rebecca had stopped crying and now said wonderingly, “That’s why you wanted me to attend this ball, isn’t it? It had nothing to do with me at all. You wanted to meet Lord Vale.”

Damn. Sam stared at his younger sister. “I—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“Or me,” Lady Emeline said. Her words were quiet, but Sam knew not to take that as a sign she wasn’t angry. “Reynaud was killed because of that battle. Didn’t you think I had a right to know?”

Sam frowned. His head hurt, his mouth tasted like acid, and he didn’t want to deal with the women in his life. This was man’s business, although he wasn’t such a fool as to say that aloud.

Apparently, Vale had no such qualms. “Emmie, this will only open old wounds for you. Why don’t you and Miss...” He looked uncertainly at Rebecca.

“This is Miss Hartley,” Lady Emeline said coolly. “Mr. Hartley’s sister.”

“Miss Hartley.” Vale nodded, urbane even when accused of treason. “Why don’t you two go back into the house and enjoy the ball?”

Sam nearly groaned. Didn’t Vale know anything about women?

Lady Emeline smiled tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I believe I will stay here.”

Vale opened his mouth again, the fool.

“I’ll stay, too,” Rebecca said before Vale could speak.

Everyone swung in her direction. Rebecca’s cheeks pinkened, but she tilted her chin defiantly.

Lady Emeline cleared her throat. “We’ll just sit here.”

She marched to a marble bench set against the railing. Rebecca followed her. Both ladies sat down, crossed their arms, and assumed nearly identical expressions of expectation. In any other circumstances, it would’ve been funny. Damn. Sam raised an eyebrow at Vale.

Who shrugged helplessly. God only knew where the man got his reputation as a rake.

The footman returned with a glass of wine on a tray. Samuel took it and sipped. He spat the first mouthful over the rail into the bushes before downing the rest of the glass, feeling marginally better.

Vale cleared his throat when the footman had left. “Yes, well. Where did this letter you have come from? How are we to know it wasn’t forged?”

“It’s not forged,” Sam said. He felt more than saw Lady Emeline purse her lips. How dare she sit in judgment of him? “I received it from a Delaware Indian—he’s part English on his mother’s side. The man is a friend I’ve known for many years.”

“That strange little Indian who came to visit you at your place of business last spring!” Rebecca exclaimed. “I remember now. He was in your office when I went to bring you your luncheon.”