The Forbidden Lady Read Online Free PDF Page B

it not?” Presenting a lazy smile, he quickly assessed the situation.
    A dozen British soldiers blocked the road leading into Boston. A man in plain homespun clothing, his wrists and ankles tied, sat beside the road.
    Quin glanced over his shoulder at Johnson. “Don’t just stand there, old man. Make yourself useful.” He flicked his fingers at him. “Go . . . do something. Write a letter.”
    Johnson bowed his head. “Yes, sir, Mr. Stanton.” He climbed back into the carriage.
    The leading officer came forward, his scarlet woolen coat richly embellished with gold epaulettes and buttons. A crescent-shaped silver gorget hung around his neck, matching the silver-mounted pistols that jutted from his belt.
    The officer bowed. “I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. We’re stopping all traffic in and out of Boston. Caught this one here, trying to desert.” He motioned to the man in restraints. “Some local people were helping him, had him hidden in their cart.”
    Quin widened his eyes as he removed his snuffbox. “Sink me! ’Tis a crime to leave Boston?”
    The officer’s face hardened with an irritated expression. “He’s a British soldier who tried to desert.”
    “Oh, my! Now, why would a man do that? The uniforms are so dashing, don’t you know. I absolutely adore the bright colors. And those drums you play—so exhilarating. Mon Dieu! My heart goes pitter-pat.”
    “You don’t say.”
    “Would you care for some snuff? ’Tis a special blend we call Grey Mouton. Captain . . . ?”
    “Captain Breakwell, and no, thank you.” The officer gazed over Quin’s shoulder with a frosty look.
    Quin took a pinch and sneezed into his powerfully perfumed handkerchief. The mixture of musk oil, licorice, and ambergris was a foul concoction Josiah had proudly discovered and poured onto his master’s handkerchiefs.
    Quin blinked to keep his eyes from watering. “I say, I was thinking of having a suit of clothing made for me in the military style. I hear the ladies positively swoon over a man in uniform. Have you found that to be true, Captain?”
    Breakwell clenched his jaw. “You are free to enter Boston, sir. There’s no need to detain you further.”
    “Oh, how kind of you.” Quin waved his handkerchief in the air, dispersing noxious fumes under the captain’s pinched face. “I say, what will you do with that man over there?” He eyed the captured man’s homespun clothing and shuddered. “ Quelle horreur ! It should be a crime to dress like that. I would suggest you put the man’s tailor in the pillory.”
    “His crime is desertion. Fifty lashes.”
    “Mon Dieu ! And you say the local peasants were helping him?”
    “Aye, the Americans are happy to help a British soldier desert.”
    “Hmm. Then, might I suggest, Captain, that instead of whipping the young man before his regiment, that you punish him where the townsfolk will see it, also? That might discourage the locals from assisting more soldiers in the future.”
    Captain Breakwell considered this. “I believe I will. It could prove an effective deterrent.”
    “Always happy to help. Good day, Captain.” Quincy retreated to the coach and glanced at Johnson through the window. “Well, hurry it up, old man, and open the door. You cannot see my hands are full?” He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture, displaying a snuffbox in one and a handkerchief in the other.
    Johnson stepped out and waited for Quin to climb in. He reentered, closing the door behind him.
    “You enjoy that, don’t you, Stanton?” Johnson sat across from him and rapped the cane on the ceiling.
    As they rolled past the soldiers, Quin looked out the window at the man who would soon receive fifty lashes. “I should have helped that man escape instead of acting like a fool.”
    “You were outnumbered. And you would have given away your true identity. But that was a good move, suggesting they lash the man in public.”
    Quin yanked the wig off his head. “I’m sure the