He was staring into the distance as I approached, his gaze troubled. More than ever, I longed to know if he was spying. But would he tell me even if he was? I didn’t think he’d lie to me, but would he tell me the truth? Having such knowledge could put my life in danger as much as his.
He turned at my approach and took his hat, but he didn’t put it on his head. Instead, he held it under his arm. “Thank you.”
We walked toward the back of our property, along the crushed-shell path between our vegetable gardens.
“It’s been good to see you again, Libby,” he said, his voice a bit tentative. “I wasn’t sure if I should come. I feared you wouldn’t want to speak to me again after the last time I was here.”
“Of course I do.”
Our hands brushed as we walked, and I looked up at him. He was so tall next to me. I felt safe and secure with him in ways I didn’t anywhere else. He made me feel seen and understood, though he didn’t know all of me. I had a burning desire to tell him the truth—all of it—but I doubted he would believe me. Worse, I feared losing his friendship.
He met my gaze, but I could not read his expression. Whatever he’d been thinking about when I joined him had brought a heaviness to his countenance.
With my twentieth birthday now behind me, I felt bolder than usual in the darkness, the flickering torches offering just enough light to guide our path. I allowed our hands to brush against each other again. This time, he took my hand in his. But instead of looking pleased, his face filled with sorrow.
We were almost to the back gate when he finally paused just outside the circle of light from the last torch. The darkness cocooned us in privacy, though my eyes were adjusted enough to see his face. Pain and longing emanated from every curve and line.
“I should never have shared so much with you the last time we were together,” he said. “’Twas unfair.”
“Nothing you said felt unfair.”
His smile looked sad. “You’re too kind to me.”
“’Tis easy.”
He swallowed as his thumb passed over the back of my bare hand. A shiver ran up my spine, one I could not control.
“I should let you return to the warmth of your home.” I felt him pulling away, so I clasped his hand tighter, not willing for him to leave me yet.
“Henry, are you spying?” The words burst from me before I could stop them.
“Spying?” His voice lowered a notch with surprise.
Had I insulted him? I licked my dry lips, trying to read his response. Having come this far, I decided to plunge further. “I’ve heard you’re spying on Governor Dunmore, but I’ve also heard you’re spying on the Patriots. Is there truth to either claim?”
He pulled away from me, dropping my hand. “Who said these things?”
My heart fell. He hadn’t denied them, as I hoped he would.
“Are either of the rumors true? Are they both true?” I held my breath, hoping Henry would not lie to me—but also hoping he was not guilty of either offense. Both would put him in grave danger.
“I cannot speak about these things, Libby.” He took a step back and ran a hand over his dark hair in a distracted manner I’d seen dozens of times. The curls loosened and fell over his forehead.
“You will not tell me the truth?”
“I cannot tell you what you want to hear, so I will tell you nothing.”
I couldn’t believe it. He was all but admitting to his involvement—but on which side?
“I do not want to spoil your birthday.” His eyes were intense, and they matched his voice when he said, “I want to spare you from pain, Libby. I would rather die than cause you heartache, you must believe me.”
He was admitting to something, but I didn’t know what it might be.
I stood there, unable to remove the frown slanting my brows. I felt weak and slack and numb as I stared at him.
“Please.” He took both of my hands in his, dropping his hat to the path, and entwined our fingers together. He brought my hands up to press against his chest. “Do not look at me that way. I cannot bear disappointing you.”
We were close, very close. I could smell the sweet scent of tobacco smoke clinging to his garments. I forced my face to soften. “I’m not disappointed in you,” I whispered, looking up to meet his gaze. “I’m worried and confused and uncertain.”
