The Power and the Glory by William C. Hammond Page A

tittering and twittering behind my back all afternoon—the same sort of blather I hear every time Anne-Marie appears. Which is far too often for my taste.”
    â€œYou’re making a haystack from a blade of grass, Katherine. It’s just good-natured fun. Our friends and neighbors mean no harm or insult to you.”
    â€œIt may be just good-natured fun to you and Agreen and General Lincoln. But I assure you it’s not good-natured fun to me. Too many people around here are having too much fun at my expense.”
    â€œBusybodies like that live in every town. They have nothing to crow about in their own lives and so they inquire into the lives of others, hoping to find the excitement that they lack. Pay them no mind.” He leaned in to kiss her. She let him, though she placed her palms flat against his chest, denying him full access. “Besides,” he soothed, “have you quite forgotten your own past affairs? What about the legions of handsome young men who paid court to you in Fareham? One of them, a Royal Navy captain—remind me, what was his name? Ah, yes, Horatio Nelson, that’s it—was so entranced by your charms that he asked you to
marry him. And I seem to recall that you accepted his entreaty.” He kissed her again.
    â€œThat is not a fair comparison,” she protested hotly. “Horatio and I may have been betrothed, but we never allowed our relationship to . . . progress the way yours apparently did with Anne-Marie.”
    â€œThat was years ago, Katherine. I was young and impressionable, and her country and mine were not at war with each other. If anything, you should thank Anne-Marie. She made me realize once and for all where my heart truly lies. Remind me: was it not you I begged to marry me?”
    She blinked once, sighed, and blinked again. Slowly she slid her hands from his chest to his hips.
    â€œYou have a glib tongue, Mr. Cutler, I’ll give you that. But don’t you go getting smug on me. I still . . .” She looked down. “Here, what are you doing?”
    â€œI am undressing you, Mrs. Cutler, as you can plainly see.” He was loosening button under button on the front of her dress. When he had them all undone, he eased the bodice from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. “Since my kisses aren’t having the desired effect, I find I must resort to stiffer measures.”
    She suppressed a smile. “The children . . .”
    â€œAre in bed. If they’re not asleep, their doors are closed.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to their four-poster bed. “So if just this once you could temper those rock-shivering moans of yours, no one will be the wiser.”
    As he stretched her out on top of the red-and-yellow-checkered bedspread and began removing the remainder of her clothing, she reached in as best she could to undo the buttons of his trousers. “Richard Cutler,” she murmured, “you are a wicked man. Satan will strike you down.”
    â€œNo doubt he will, my lady,” Richard murmured in reply. He slid her last line of defense down her long, slender legs and tossed the cotton undergarment aside. Quickly he peeled off his own clothing. “And when he does, I shall rejoice in the certainty that I will be spending eternity with you.” He gave her an arch look before delving into the garden of delight planted there before him.

Four
    Baltimore, Maryland November 1797
    â€œT ILGHMAN ISLAND, SIR, closing to larboard. Shall I tack her around?” Caught daydreaming, Richard Cutler cursed under his breath. It was the last thing he should be doing while sailing in these ever-narrowing waters. But as Elizabeth approached Maryland’s Eastern Shore on a close haul, Richard’s mind had been swamped by memories of a man with whom he had served on board Bonhomme Richard during the war. A Londoner by birth, a naval gunner by trade, Henry Sawyer had come over