Page 17 of While You Were Spying

“I think you’d better run home, Miss Dashing.” He released her arm and gave her a little push toward the path through the trees. “Too much temptation out here.”

She stared at him, eyes widening. They were the shade of cocoa swirled with rich cream. From the shock in her gaze, he could tell she hadn’t missed the innuendo. “I assure you, I am quite well, Lord Winterbourne.” But she took another step back. “I walk here frequently.”

Trees, a stream—what could interest her here? “Why?” he asked. “Can’t you pray somewhere else? A church perhaps?”

Her mouth curved down at the corners. “I like it here. Where I can bealone.”

“You’re not alone now.”

“No. I’m not.” She swept the ribbon, which had blown across her cheek, aside. Perhaps she wished she could sweep him aside as easily.

“I have no intention of leaving, Miss Dashing, so if your prayers are done, you should go.”

“Ishould go?” The ribbon blew forward, obscuring the glare in her eyes.

Ethan grinned in spite of himself. She wouldn’t make this easy, but then he liked a challenge, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much.

“A little girl like you can’t have that many sins to repent.” He gave her a roguish look. “Yet.”

She gaped at him, rosy mouth forming an O. “Lord Winterbourne—”

Ethan turned his head at the sound of approaching voices and tried silencing her with a wave.

“No, I willnotbe quiet! You have no right—Mmmpfh!”

In one fluid motion, he closed his hand over her lips and dragged her into the thick shrubs nearby, pushing her onto her stomach and coming down next to her.

She bucked against him wildly. She was small but strong, and he struggled to keep his arm around her. She bit his hand, and he swore soundlessly. Little hellion!

“Lie still!” He clamped his hand tighter to muffle her protests. “Stop fighting. There’s someone coming.”

She shook her head, elbowing him in the stomach.

“The devil take it!” He pulled her hard against him, where she’d be less able to inflict damage. “Listen,” he whispered against her ear.

Thankfully, she obeyed. Her petite body grew rigid as the men’s voices became louder. Wide-eyed, she craned her neck to look at him. He took a chance and uncovered her mouth, leaving his other arm securely around the curve of her waist. He put a finger to his lips.

She nodded.

Peering through the shrubbery into the clearing, he saw three men clamber through the trees on the clearing’s far side.

All three wore coarse wool trousers and gray homespun shirts, but one sported a bulky greatcoat while the others had no such protection from the November chill. Their hair was dirty, matted, and shaggy, their faces and clothes covered with dirt and grime. One wore a brown beaver hat, and his unkempt hair was plastered to his neck beneath it.

“I don’t see why I should be the only one that has to help the stinking Frenchie do the digging,” whined Beaver Hat. “It’ll go much faster if we all pitch in.”

The three stomped through the meadow, pausing a yard or so from where Ethan and the girl lay. Ethan scrunched down further. The contents of a haversack

clunked loudly when the man in the coat tossed it aside, and Ethan felt the girl jump.

“You’ll do the digging because you and the Frenchie lost at cards last night. That was the wager,” Greatcoat answered in a hoarse voice. “And if I were you, I’d start now.”

Beaver Hat planted his hands on his hips. “What if I don’t want to start? What if I don’t want to work with no stinking Frenchie?”

Greatcoat stared at him. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you took this job.”

Ethan watched as the man reached into the coat and withdrew a pistol. The girl gasped, and Ethan glanced at her. Her eyes were riveted on the men, and against his body, he felt her heart pounding in her chest. He raised his hand to cover her mouth again but lowered it when she remained silent.

He looked back at the men, now certain they were the smugglers.

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