Authors: Elizabeth Squire
The night air had taken on an icy chill and the ground crunched audibly under his feet from the frost that had already formed on the grass. Damn it. He looked back over at the cottage and cursed again. He’d left his blasted coat inside in his haste to put some space between himself and Liliane. Some cooling off time probably wasn’t such a bad thing though.
He turned and entered the makeshift stable. At least Vulcan would have no objection to a little extra grooming. He picked up the currying brush and commenced a rhythmic sweep down the side of the large black gelding.
This whole bloody mission continued to go from bad to worse. Christ, his days of spying for the Admiralty were supposed to have been long over. Curse Sir Avery for insisting he do this last mission.
Sinclair had only consented to come back to France because the last missive from Gareth indicated that he believed he had identified the traitor who’d been leaking information to Napoleon’s agents.
All he had meant to do was meet with Gareth and personally courier the information back to Sir Avery. Except no one had heard from Gareth in weeks. Supposedly, the last thing he’d written was that he’d arranged to meet an informant south of Boulogne. Only, he hadn’t named the informant, nor provided any details about who may have assisted to set up that meeting.
Damn the bloody bastard, how could Gareth have been so careless to get himself kidnapped or killed? Sinclair’s gut clenched and a prickly heat rolled through him. He ducked his head and swiped a hand across his face.
Vulcan, sensing Sinclair’s disquiet, turned and gently nuzzled him. Sinclair rested his head against the horse’s neck and closed his eyes. He needed to keep it together. There was no telling yet what had happened to Gareth. For all he knew, he may be back at Whites by now with his feet up, enjoying a snifter of brandy and regaling Martinbury of his exploits.
But deep in his gut Sinclair knew it was not going to be that simple. He righted himself and pulled a lump of sugar from his pocket and fed it to the gelding. Beside him, Liliane’s bay mare butted him, prompting him to share a treat with her also. He ran his hand down Vulcan’s forelegs to check for swelling and, once satisfied, turned his attention to currying Satin.
So many things just didn’t add up. In particular, why hadn’t Solange Beaumont known anything of Gareth’s movements? At any other time she would have set up the liaison and even accompanied him to the
rendez vous
. She was an intricate part of their network. Christ, her whole bloody family had been slaughtered by the regime they were trying to bring down. Yet she claimed no knowledge of a traitor. And then, with little more than a by your leave, she had abdicated her responsibilities to Liliane. A woman who risked being more hindrance than help.
Babysitting such a delectable morsel was going to prove more of a challenge than he had bargained for, although she would be prickly if anyone suggested to her that she required babysitting. Damn it. In the space of just one day, a sable-haired miss with sapphire eyes and an enticing mouth had shaken his focus like nothing before. Bloody hell, she made him want a different life. One that was free from the ugliness that shaped his world and guided his actions, although that world would be empty without the beauty she could bring to it. He admonished himself; this was not the time to become distracted.
If he was to stand any chance of finding Gareth he needed to remain coldly focused, unrecognisable as the charming and debonair Marquis of Esselton who graced the ballrooms of the Ton. It was his chameleon ability to blend with the locals and intuitiveness for danger that had kept him alive this long. In this arena, his sharply honed survival skills did not include being distracted by personal entanglements. And therein lay the real reason for his aggrieved reaction towards Liliane.
Despite her sharp wit and determination, she had an air of vulnerability about her. And, if one thing was for certain, he most certainly did not feel anything remotely resembling a brotherly concern for her. He pursed his lips together. He was not in the market for a wife, once had been enough, and it was not an experience he wished to repeat.
Resolutely, Sinclair shut Liliane from his mind and continued his rhythmic grooming of the horses until Vulcan’s harsh nudge against his shoulder recalled him to his present surroundings. Judging sufficient time had passed to ensure Liliane would be soundly asleep he covered the animals and made his way back to the cottage.
Sinclair came awake; it paid to be a light sleeper. There were horses moving along the roadway outside the cottage, at least three or four of them, if his guess was correct. He opened his eyes and sat up. The interior of the cottage was dimly lit by the thin morning light that stole through the faded curtains covering the only window. He hastily pulled his trousers off the back of the nearby chair and dragged them on. Then, slipping his feet into his boots, he grabbed his pistol and crept to stand next to the door. He could only be thankful the fire had died down a couple of hours ago, so there shouldn’t be any tell-tale signs of smoke to betray them.
With great care he eased the door open a fraction and peered out. Fog skimmed the ground to hang low over the fields and swirl about the riders. Six, he counted through the mist. A Hussar scouting party, one commissioned officer and five soldiers, rode about twenty yards from their door. A shout of laughter rang out, followed by a couple of ribald comments from one of the soldiers. They must be on a routine patrol as he couldn’t detect a supply wagon.
Damn it
. He pulled back from the door; the troop leader had reined his horse in and was in the process of giving instructions. Two soldiers wheeled around and headed towards the farm buildings. Sinclair darted a glance at Liliane. She was still asleep on the cot against the far wall. If he stepped out to meet them he should be able to keep her concealed, provided they didn’t insist upon coming inside and inspecting the cottage.
Sinclair pulled yesterday’s white linen shirt over his head and shoved the tails into his pants. Then, with another quick look at Liliane, he moved to open the door. He paused as the Hussar Lieutenant called out another instruction to his men. The two riders glanced at each other and changed direction, making their way to the farmer standing in the doorway of the barn. The old man was gesturing towards the rest of the party, holding up a milk pale and indicating that he had plenty to go around.
Sinclair watched the riders loosely tether their horses outside the wooden structure before entering the building. Then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed an elderly lady, most probably the farmer’s wife, making her way across to the barn. Her progress was slowed by the heavy wicker basket she held in one hand. It more than likely contained hot bread if the smell drifting across the yard was any indication.
Well, that was interesting. He hadn’t been expecting that degree of loyalty from their hosts. Sinclair stepped back from the door and pushed it closed. He would have to make sure the old couple was compensated for the risk they had just taken. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful for the reprieve, and stilled. He hadn’t even heard her move from her bed, but he sure as hell could feel the warmth of her body as she stood behind him. And no man in his right mind could ignore the delicate perfume that was reaching out to tantalise his senses. He breathed in the subtle scent of rose, mixed with something he couldn’t quiet put a name to.
‘Is everything alright?’ she asked from behind him, her breath a scant whisper against his ear.
He nodded. ‘A Hussar scouting party. They just went into the barn. They’re looking for breakfast.’
‘Are they heading north or south?’
‘North, although that doesn’t mean to say there won’t be others. We need to get away while they’re occupied.’ He slid the door latch across and turned. And wished there was a way he could have walked out that door and just kept going. She stood bare foot, with the same blue woollen shawl she’d worn the first day he met her draped over her nightrail. Her hair, a mass of sable tresses mussed from sleep, fell lightly about her face. He followed her hand as she tucked an offending strand behind her ear, only to be drawn to her eyes; they were luminous pools, even in the poorly lit room. Ah, but her mouth. It was full and luscious and he could feast there for a month. She was demure and provocative, woven into a labyrinth of temptation. And trouble—but not of the kind he was looking to indulge in.
Sucking a breath in he turned away and moved over to the workbench in the middle of the room where he pulled a map from his saddle bag and set it on the table. ‘We’ll move out just as soon as you’re dressed. There’s more activity around here than I’d been briefed to expect.’
‘Give me five minutes.’ Liliane collected her clothing from where it was folded over a chair and moved behind the privacy screen.
He listened to layers of cloth being peeled off and swooshed about. His teeth were going to shatter if he ground them any harder, but there was no way he was going to allow himself to think about her standing less than five feet from him. Naked. This was deserving of a sainthood. Pushing the image of Liliane clothed only in stockings and a chemise firmly to the back of his mind, he reached for a candle and taper and knelt before the hearth. Now if only he could stop shaking long enough to get the blasted thing lit. To his relief, the sliver of wood slid deep into the dying coals and burst into flame within a matter of moments.
Sinclair lit the candle, and one other, and moved back to position them beside the map on the table. Guided by the light, he slowly traced his finger along the route they had taken yesterday. Based on his last intelligence report there were no troops stationed within ten miles of here, so what the hell was a Hussar scouting party doing outside their door? And this farm certainly wasn’t a shortcut to anywhere, which is why it was so favoured by his colleagues. His brow furrowed. The only reason a scouting party would be travelling along this road was to search for someone. Yet they hadn’t inspected the cottages, which must mean they were not expecting to come across their quarry just yet. For that reason alone, he had to make sure he and Liliane avoided coming under suspicion by putting sufficient distance between them and the Hussar as quickly as possible.
He blew out the candles and quickly finished dressing. Sliding the map back into his saddle bag he moved over to stand before the privacy screen, determinedly closing his mind to any wayward thoughts of a naked Liliane. ‘I’m going to saddle the horses. As soon as you’re dressed, I want you to slip out to join me in the lean-to.’
Not waiting for an answer, Sinclair pulled the door back and ensured the scouting party was still occupied. Satisfied there was no one to see him, he silently edged his way to the back of the building, grateful for the concealing fog. Vulcan nuzzled his pocket and Sinclair fed the beast a sugar cube, also palming one to Satin before quickly saddling them.
He sensed Liliane enter the lean-to and flicked a glance at her. She was wearing the same riding habit as yesterday. It was unadorned with any finery, but she invested it with a style that elevated it to something worthy of Mayfair. Not that any of the women of his acquaintance would condescend to wear the same dress twice or forgo their luxuries to travel through a hostile land with a strange man. Yet Liliane hadn’t flinched once, and he couldn’t help but admire her for that. He watched as she tightened the girth on Satin’s saddle and checked the stirrup length. She had an economy of movement that reassured him she was more than competent around horses.
‘Ready,’ she breathed quietly.
Sinclair nodded. ‘There’s a line of woodland about one hundred yards to the rear of these buildings. Our best option is to lead the horses into the trees and then mount up.’
‘And if we’re seen?’
Sinclair paused, looking closely at her to detect any sign of panic. She met his gaze, her face a stoic mask. She wasn’t looking for reassurance, she just wanted to be prepared. His estimation of her rose another notch. ‘Well, we just hope our alibi holds under scrutiny.’ He passed Satin’s reins to her. ‘Right, let’s go.’
The woodland was nothing more than a dark mass of ghostly shapes among the swirling mist. At least the fog would help to conceal them. Sinclair glanced over his shoulder. Good, there was no movement from the farmyard yet. Once they were into the tree line they should be able to pick up the south bound road relatively quickly.
He leant in to ask Liliane how she was faring when a babble of voices emerged from the barn. Blast, they had just run out of time. He peered through the fog to judge how much further they had until the tree line.
‘About thirty yards I think,’ Liliane murmured from beside him.
So, she was determined to be his equal in this venture. ‘They’ll be assembled at the front of the barn. I can’t imagine they’d have any reason to come round the back, but I don’t think we should take any chances. Can you run?’
Liliane nodded her head in a silent response.
More voices punctuated the morning stillness, followed by laughter and a couple of gruff comments.
‘Good,’ he breathed. ‘Shorten the reins to keep Satin steady, and stay with me. Go.’
Sinclair gave Vulcan a reassuring pat on the flank and broke into a light jog. The horse responded to his gentle urging, while to his relief Liliane kept up with him. Thank the fates the damp ground was masking the sound of the horses’ hooves.
Beside him Liliane stumbled, her foot catching on a rock. Her breath whooshed out and he reached out to catch her by the elbow. She steadied herself, her teeth gripping her bottom lip. Sinclair moved a step closer. ‘You alright?’ he whispered into her hair.
She regained her balance and kept running. ‘Just kicked my toe. No sprain,’ she whispered back.
Sinclair nodded his head. This woman had a resilience he hadn’t expected. She wasn’t about to hide behind her beauty or dissolve at the first sign of danger. If anything, she would probably hide the fact that she’d been hurt if she thought it would hold them up. That in itself would be a liability.