running his ringers through her auburn hair and savoring the crush of her round, rich breasts. For a brief moment he forgot everything — the war, as well as Betsy Schuyler behind him.
'Your father said you were in Boston,' he told Sarah.
'I hurried back when I heard your life was in danger,' said Sarah, taking a step away and surveying him — with one eye cast menacingly at Betsy. 'Apparently I arrived not a-moment too soon. What happened to you?'
'Among other things, a Mohawk made the mistake of trying to carry off a piece of my scalp without taking care to make sure I was dead first.' He held her hands a moment longer, then loosened his grip to gesture to his side, where Betsy was standing in a pose that would have intimidated Minerva. 'Sarah, I believe you know Betsy Schuyler. Her family nursed me back to health.'
'Indeed.'
Rarely has a simple word contained such understated venom. In a clash of arms, Jake Gibbs had few betters, but he felt temporarily overmatched as the air around the two women sparked with the electricity of a sudden summer storm. *
'Sarah Thomas,' said Betsy Schuyler. 'I hadn't realized you were invited.'
'I wasn't,' said Sarah. 'A friend of mine escorted me. A most distinguished gentleman, as it happens.'
Any question as to the gentleman's identity was forestalled by a loud harangue just now rising near the orchestra.
'I should think that another violin would be needed for proper dancing. In my day, accompaniment was accompaniment, and we did not cut corners with it.'
As he had done on so many occasions, Claus van Clynne made a most timely entrance. Pushing his way through the crowd, he temporarily displaced Sarah and Betsy, whose hostilities were interrupted by the small whirlpool created by the squire's arrival.
The portly Dutchman, freshly combed and dressed in a fine russet suit, might have been termed a dashing figure, assuming one made proper allowances for the antique quality of his clothes, his large stomach, and his somewhat scraggly, if over-full, red beard. His shoes bore large golden buckles, and he had not one but two watch chains. His buttons were silver, and his sleeves very properly ruffled. His hat was by far the finest in the hall, circling his head like the clouds over Olympus, and nearly as gray. The beavers that had volunteered their coats for it had been truly noble beasts.
'I had not expected you out of bed for at least another week,' said van Clynne, giving Jake a pat on the side so sturdy the spy gasped with pain. 'But of course, I had not counted on Dutch cures.'
'You seem to have made your own recovery,' said Jake.
'A trifle,' said the Dutchman, whose most serious wound during the adventure consisted of the loss of an entire bushel of wampum. 'A misunderstanding. The Maquas and I have always been on the friendliest of terms. Indeed, we have done much business together, and will do so in the future.'
'Not the near future,' said Jake. 'They've all gone over to Burgoyne.'
Van Clynne dismissed this as he might dismiss word of poor weather. 'A temporary indiscretion. Now that you are fully recovered, perhaps you can accompany me to Peekskill. I have some business there and aim to leave in the morning.'
'I can't,' said Jake. 'Schuyler will need me.
The Dutchman sniffed and pulled at his beard, but noting Betsy nearby, did not voice his opinion of the Albany aristocrat turned commander. Instead, he took a glance at the tables, searching for something to drink. Besides the punch, the Schuylers were serving the best Madeira they had, but as of yet no ale had been liberated from the kitchen. While van Clynne went to perform that mission, Jake returned his attention to Sarah and Betsy.
The British and American armies exchanged less threatening glares. Under the guise of complimenting each other, the two women traded pointed insults. Sarah noted that Betsy's new dress was most becoming, considering that it had been let out twice in recent months. Betsy opined that the rouge on Sarah's cheek was very much in fashion, no matter what the word from Europe might suggest. Sarah allowed as how no one in the room would notice that Betsy mixed a little clothes dye with her hair soap; Betsy complimented Sarah on the handkerchief discreetly stuffed in the front of her dress.
By now a knot of women had assembled, and the atmosphere was heavier than a late winter's fog. While somewhat flattered to be the object of such attention, Jake was not about to let the two young women come to blows. He owed Betsy his gratitude for her service as nurse, and Sarah much more. Surely a smile to one, a kiss to the other, and peace would break out.
Or at least a truce that would facilitate tactful withdrawal. But as he stepped forward to propose a cease fire, Jake was grabbed from behind by a most unfeminine hand.
'You, sir, are a scoundrel and a villain. You will accompany me outside, where we will arrange to redress our difficulties on the field of honor.'
Chapter Two
.
He was met by a young man of twenty with a disheveled mop of hair, mud-soiled if nicely tailored clothes, and a broad, impish smile on his face.
'Alexander Hamilton, what the devil brings you to Albany?'
'Come to rescue you from a tight situation, I see,' said Hamilton, whose buff and blue uniform proclaimed him a member of General George Washington’s staff. He swept his tricornered hat toward Betsy and Sarah. 'Ladies.'
'Colonel Alexander Hamilton,' said Jake, introducing them. He was as glad of the company as the interruption. 'Be careful of him, ladies; he is most ambitious. Just a few weeks ago he was a captain.'
'Charmed,' said Betsy as he took her hand to kiss it. She fluttered her eyes at him, making sure Jake saw.
'I hope you will excuse me if I remove Colonel Gibbs from your presence. But first let me say, Miss Thomas, that dress is particularly fetching. And you, Miss Schuyler, I hope my delay in making your acquaintance to this point won't be held against me, for surely it has been my great loss.'
The reader will be spared the swain's additional bouquets, though the women were not. Sarah immediately became suspicious, but Betsy's eyes filled with a sort of light a poet might devote a lifetime to describing.
'Outside,' Hamilton whispered to Jake as he turned from them. 'We must not be overheard.'
Jake, with a sinking feeling that he was about to become embroiled in the political fallout from the Ticonderoga fiasco, reluctantly bowed his apologies and followed Hamilton through the room. They passed through the ornately worked portal, leaving the faux woodlands on the walls behind.
Jake had been to the Pastures before the war, and knew its interior passages fairly well. He took Hamilton to the east door, passing down the steps onto the broad brick walkway. They walked onto the lawn, away from the house and the nearby bushes.
The moon was at its fullest. The two men might have had a proper game of skittles, or perhaps the duel Hamilton had promised, had the situation been different. Both remained silent until they reached a point where eavesdropping was impossible.
'General Washington must see you immediately,' said Hamilton. 'It is a matter of the greatest urgency.'
Though softly spoken, the words could not have elicited a sharper reaction in Jake had they been shouted in his ear.
'I've ridden all day and half the night without stopping, except for fresh horses,' continued Hamilton. 'The
