Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(53)
Pierre knew such a move would be completely foolish. If the majority of the British Army left to go off and start a fight, they’d lose the island.
For a long moment the colonel’s face was drawn. He was less formal than other British officers Pierre had met, more down-to-earth and likable. He doted on Lavinia, and while he was strict with his regulars, he was also kind, and the men respected him.
The longer Pierre spent with the colonel and Lavinia, the harder the whole spying business was getting. At the start of the war two years ago, when he’d agreed to spy on the Americans for the colonel, he hadn’t been walking with the Lord but was living a wild life. He hadn’t given a second thought to sharing secret information in exchange for money. He hadn’t really cared about the war, had only seen the chance to enrich himself.
After he’d turned his life back around, he’d decided he needed to stop spying. But by that point, the Americans had heard of his friendship with the British and had persuaded him to agent for them instead, to continue the relationship with the colonel but to use it to the Americans’ advantage.
After some debate, Pierre had figured spying for the Americans was more noble and acceptable. He’d thought it would be a way to make up for his past, a way to help his family and country. He still was an American citizen, after all.
But now, after being home, after spying on Colonel McDouall, the guilt had piled up like a stone wall. The colonel and Lavinia trusted him, and here he was betraying them.
Pierre took a deep breath, attempting to push the weight off his chest, but it didn’t budge. Was God trying to tell him something?
The faint lyrical sound of laughter wafted across the hallway from the sitting room, where Lavinia and Angelique were dancing. His thoughts flashed again to the moment in the tree with Angelique when he’d kissed her. Was that the moment he’d known he couldn’t leave the island?
The hard truth was that he couldn’t stop spying even if he wanted to. If he stopped, the colonel and other officers would know the truth about who he really was. Immediately they’d put a price on his head, and he’d be forced to flee for his life.
He’d have no choice but to leave Angelique and Maman behind. And how could he do that? What if the British suspected them too and prosecuted them as a result of his spying?
Non, he was stuck in the tangle of lies he’d spun for himself, with no easy way out.
“Would you like my honest opinion, Colonel?” Pierre finally asked.
The colonel nodded. “Of course, Durant.”
“I don’t think we should leave the island.” His conscience prodded him to tell the truth, even if it wouldn’t help the American cause. “As strong as we are on the water, we won’t be able to win a naval battle against the Americans, primarily because the Indians won’t be able to help us in the water from their canoes. They’ll just get blown to pieces.”
The office grew silent. Lavinia’s chatter grew louder from the sitting room.
“Non,” Pierre continued. “Since we have the Indians as allies, we’d be smarter to stay on land and use them to our advantage when the Americans attack us here.”
The colonel nodded. “I was beginning to wonder about you, Durant. But you’ve given solid advice this time.”
Pierre smiled with what he hoped was a charming grin, yet he had a sinking feeling that it was only a matter of time before the colonel discovered his true loyalties. He prayed the end of the war would come before that happened, or he’d be a dead man.
Chapter
16
Angelique flattened herself against the wall of Lavinia’s room, not daring to look in the mirror to see the finished product—the effect of the hours of labor Lavinia had spent that afternoon preparing her for the dance. Instead she placed a hand over her mouth and kneaded her rolling stomach.
She was going to be sick.
How could she possibly step outside the door and face the world looking like this? Her gown cascaded about her in wave after wave of filmy silk. She slid her fingers upward over the finest, smoothest material she’d ever touched, until her fingers came to the high embroidered waistline that hugged her bosom.
She drew in a scandalized breath as she had every time she’d noted the starkly rounded curves that the drawstring of the bodice and the stays beneath had thrust upward until her bosom was fairly bursting from the broad, square neckline. She didn’t want to think about how much her gown resembled those her mother had once worn, but the thought came unbidden anyway.
With shaking fingers she tugged the bodice higher. Even though it wasn’t as revealing as the neckline of Lavinia’s beautiful golden gown, it was much too immodest for her.
After the years of wearing the shapeless high-collared clothes Ebenezer had required her to don, she felt almost naked.
“I can’t go out there like this,” she whispered to the empty room, to the discarded clothes strewn about among the ribbons, pins, and assortment of toiletries Lavinia had used to prepare them both.
If only she’d had the courage to tell Lavinia no. But over the past several weeks, as Lavinia had planned the dance and had the gown tailored just for her, Angelique had let the woman have her way. She’d gone along with the dance lessons, the instructions on how to hold herself like a lady, how to walk gracefully, how to eat properly, how to greet others, and even how to hold a fan.