BEST TIME for espionage was the deepest part of the night.
A sliver of the waxing crescent moon shone through light clouds and onto Cannon Manor. Its windows should have been dark and silent, its inhabitants asleep. But they were not.
At the edge of the graveled drive, Julian rolled his shoulders and studied the pathetic, swaybacked nag standing in front of the manor house. Its rider had dismounted and was even now standing at the side kitchen door. The door itself was open, revealing a single candle and the silhouette of a second man.
The visitor gestured impatiently, the resident responded in kind, and the door swung closed again. The rider returned to his mount and cantered away from the manor, his body bent low over the saddle and rigid with urgency.
Now why, wondered Julian, was a clandestine visitor at Cannon Manor an hour past midnight?
Candlelight sparked to life in a second-floor room. He could see a shadowed figure flitting across the window, then back again. He grinned delightedly when the figure drew off a piece of clothing, revealing the outline of a womanly shape beneath. Regrettably, he was too far away to see clearly, but he glimpsed enough of the curves of breast and hip to know the lady’s shape was pleasing.
He sighed when the figure disappeared from view. That tantalizing peek at Miss Hannah was not going to help his sleep. He’d kissed her just that afternoon, and had lost himself in her honeyed taste and the exhilaration that hummed beneath it. Was it any wonder? There was so much vibrant passion and life behind that cool exterior. He’d been powerless to resist her. Now he was left feeling edgy.
The light in her room went dark. He waited, certain there would be more, and was rewarded when a groom led Demon from the stable toward the kitchen door.
Finally, the lady herself stood silhouetted in the doorway, the glow from the kitchen outlining her shape. He almost failed to recognize her, dressed as she was in men’s clothing. The breeches emphasized long, shapely legs and a trim waist while the coat concealed her torso. The crown of white-blond hair gave her away before she tucked it beneath a laborer’s cap.
She strode to the stallion, placed her foot in the stirrup and threw her other leg over his broad back. Her movements were fluid, graceful—and practiced. Clearly, Miss Hannah needed no mounting block.
The lady was riding astride. Again.
His blood began to heat as he remembered their gallop across the countryside. The memory conjured up a vision of the lady riding astride something else. Namely, him. The image of that cool, serene woman, her head thrown back in passionate abandon as she rode him, had him shifting uncomfortably in his saddle.
He fought back the vision. There was no room for attraction in this mission. She was his assignment. Nothing more than a lead to the traitor.
By the time she trotted Demon past his hiding place, Julian had tamped down any lingering desire and forced himself to study her clinically. Her features were indistinguishable in the darkness, but her shoulders had tensed and her movements were erratic. Not her usual demeanor.
When she urged Demon into a trot and left the graveled drive, he wheeled his horse around and followed at a safe distance. Eventually the windows of Beer’s main street began to glow in the darkness ahead. He expected her to skirt the town, but she rode straight through the village, staying on the nearly empty main street.
The only signs of life in the village were in the various pubs and inns still doing a brisk business. Light and sound spilled out of those establishments as the customers shared ale, cider and smuggled spirits.
She drew to a stop in front of the sign of the Jolly Smuggler.
Julian narrowed his eyes as he scanned the pub’s façade, pleased to be making progress in the investigation. The Jolly Smuggler was Jack Blackbourn’s pub.
Still, a lady did not enter a public house owned by a smuggler and catering to
A sliver of the waxing crescent moon shone through light clouds and onto Cannon Manor. Its windows should have been dark and silent, its inhabitants asleep. But they were not.
At the edge of the graveled drive, Julian rolled his shoulders and studied the pathetic, swaybacked nag standing in front of the manor house. Its rider had dismounted and was even now standing at the side kitchen door. The door itself was open, revealing a single candle and the silhouette of a second man.
The visitor gestured impatiently, the resident responded in kind, and the door swung closed again. The rider returned to his mount and cantered away from the manor, his body bent low over the saddle and rigid with urgency.
Now why, wondered Julian, was a clandestine visitor at Cannon Manor an hour past midnight?
Candlelight sparked to life in a second-floor room. He could see a shadowed figure flitting across the window, then back again. He grinned delightedly when the figure drew off a piece of clothing, revealing the outline of a womanly shape beneath. Regrettably, he was too far away to see clearly, but he glimpsed enough of the curves of breast and hip to know the lady’s shape was pleasing.
He sighed when the figure disappeared from view. That tantalizing peek at Miss Hannah was not going to help his sleep. He’d kissed her just that afternoon, and had lost himself in her honeyed taste and the exhilaration that hummed beneath it. Was it any wonder? There was so much vibrant passion and life behind that cool exterior. He’d been powerless to resist her. Now he was left feeling edgy.
The light in her room went dark. He waited, certain there would be more, and was rewarded when a groom led Demon from the stable toward the kitchen door.
Finally, the lady herself stood silhouetted in the doorway, the glow from the kitchen outlining her shape. He almost failed to recognize her, dressed as she was in men’s clothing. The breeches emphasized long, shapely legs and a trim waist while the coat concealed her torso. The crown of white-blond hair gave her away before she tucked it beneath a laborer’s cap.
She strode to the stallion, placed her foot in the stirrup and threw her other leg over his broad back. Her movements were fluid, graceful—and practiced. Clearly, Miss Hannah needed no mounting block.
The lady was riding astride. Again.
His blood began to heat as he remembered their gallop across the countryside. The memory conjured up a vision of the lady riding astride something else. Namely, him. The image of that cool, serene woman, her head thrown back in passionate abandon as she rode him, had him shifting uncomfortably in his saddle.
He fought back the vision. There was no room for attraction in this mission. She was his assignment. Nothing more than a lead to the traitor.
By the time she trotted Demon past his hiding place, Julian had tamped down any lingering desire and forced himself to study her clinically. Her features were indistinguishable in the darkness, but her shoulders had tensed and her movements were erratic. Not her usual demeanor.
When she urged Demon into a trot and left the graveled drive, he wheeled his horse around and followed at a safe distance. Eventually the windows of Beer’s main street began to glow in the darkness ahead. He expected her to skirt the town, but she rode straight through the village, staying on the nearly empty main street.
The only signs of life in the village were in the various pubs and inns still doing a brisk business. Light and sound spilled out of those establishments as the customers shared ale, cider and smuggled spirits.
She drew to a stop in front of the sign of the Jolly Smuggler.
Julian narrowed his eyes as he scanned the pub’s façade, pleased to be making progress in the investigation. The Jolly Smuggler was Jack Blackbourn’s pub.
Still, a lady did not enter a public house owned by a smuggler and catering to
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