Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution Read Online Free PDF

a
moment?   I've a matter to discuss."
    "My sister
and her husband will arrive before long."
    "I don't
need much time."
    She
nodded.   He instructed his men to wait
on the covered porch, removed his hat, and opened the door.   They entered the stuffy darkness of the
shop, where the St. Jameses also had a small post office and sold Will's
almanacs, magazines, books, and maps.   Thunder rattled the house.   She
closed the door and reached for the shelf beside it.   The absence of the expected candle made her recall that she'd
given the holder to Mary to clean.   Scowling at the servant's laziness, she groped her way to the
pressroom.   "I've a candle in
here."
    Sharp and
musty, the odors of ink and lye hung in the air.   With the lantern lit, she faced Edward, who'd followed her
in.   His gaze ranged over the clutter of
ragpaper and the half-opened drawers of type before he set his hat atop a
cabinet.   "Are you assembling the
galleys for Wednesday's paper?"
    More thunder
crackled, and the front window shook.   "Yes."
    "What will
you print about the military incident on May twenty-ninth in the Waxhaws?"
    The formality
in his carriage indicated the all-business nature of the visit.   "What's being called Buford's
Massacre?   I shall state facts — an
engagement between regulars and militia from Virginia commanded by Buford, and
His Majesty's provincials commanded by Tarleton — with the provincials
victorious."
    His nod was
curt.   "That's all that need be
said about it."
    "They're
calling the engagement a massacre because Buford's men were supposedly cut down
after they'd surrendered.   Why did that
happen?"
    "I wasn't
there.   Without details, I cannot
presume to know what invokes specific decisions of my superior officers."
    "Could
something like that happen here?"
    "I've no
comment."
    "But would
you cut down men who had surrendered?"
    His smile was
meant to be reassuring.   "You're
speculating, making yourself uncomfortable.   We protect our colonies.   We
don't slay the King's friends."
    Yes, it made
her uncomfortable, but it made Major Edward Hunt uncomfortable, too.   Buford's Massacre could happen
anywhere.   Were conditions right, it
could happen in Alton, under his command.   He was, after all, a soldier, and soldiers did what they were told.   Her responsive smile felt wooden.   "You're right, of course.   It's foolish for me to alarm myself."
    From the way
his shoulders relaxed, she knew she'd said what he wanted to hear.   He approached her, his expression
agreeable.   "I've never told you
before, but the hue of your eyes reminds me of dawn in Hampshire."
    A flush tingled
her cheeks.   No one ever said things to
her like that.   Most of the men from
Georgia were so ordinary.
    "Perhaps
even the luster of silver."
    How charming,
especially when her father had once told her that all his children had eyes the
color of common slate and hair like coal.   "You flatter me, sir."
    He leaned over,
extinguished the lantern, and captured her hands in his, brushing his lips over
her fingers.   "Edward," he
whispered.   Then he kissed her palms and
wrists.   His lips delivered intriguing
moisture and softness between her forefinger and thumb, the sensation
contrasting with memories of two husbands' clumsiness.
    A thunderclap
faded, and a horse nickered.   He
murmured, "My darling, you have enslaved me."
    She swallowed,
uneasy at his departure from their intellectual relationship, her stomach
fluttering again, and withdrew her hands to fumble for the lantern.   "I must make sure the windows are
—"
    "I'm sorry
about tonight."   He recaptured her
hands and reeled her to him, just the outline of his face visible.   "I wanted to dance with you."
    "You had
your priorities."   Her unease
deepened.   Where was this leading?
    "I shall
make it up to you.   My temporary
assignment in Alton is over.   I'm
returning to England.   Come with
me.   Let me take you away from all this
barbarism."
    She