Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

T he following morning, Emily sat on the wooden bridge overlooking the rushing stream, dangling her crossed legs and sketching the scenery. Upstream, Christian sailed the toy boat Samuel had made for him. The small craft bobbed and dipped as it rode the rapids.

Christian shouted commands at the pretend crew to hoist the beams and lower the stern. If he accidentally released the string, she sat stationed with a branch ready to prevent the boat from sailing into the reeds and becoming entangled.

While Christian amused himself, Emily shaded in her rendering of Christian playing at the riverbank and mulled over the odd encounter with Jacob—er, Lord Warren.

"Good day, Miss Thompson, Master Christian." Lord Warren's voice rang out as if she'd conjured him from her thoughts.

She snapped her head up to find him approaching up the narrow path atop a black stallion. He appeared one with the horse, matching the fluid movements of its sinewy torso and flank. He reined the horse to a neat stop, his muscular legs straining against the buckskin fabric of his breeches.

Christian waved in greeting, his enthusiasm shaking his entire body. "Good day, Lord Warren."

Swinging a leg over, the gentleman slid off the horse's back. He led his mount to a grassy section next to the bridge and tied the reins to the railing before tipping his hat at Emily.

She bobbed her head, hoping he couldn't sense her nervousness. Would being seen with a rogue like Lord Jacob Warren hurt her reputation, even though they were out in the open and Christian was with her? She made sure her skirts covered her ankles.

But Lord Warren barely gave her a nod before he turned to Christian. "And what have you got there?"

"It's my sailboat." He held up the string, and the boat jerked through the water.

"What have you christened it?"

Christian's head cocked to the side. "What's Chriseneenid?"

One side of Lord Warren's mouth pulled into a playful smile. "Christened. I was asking what you've named your boat."

"Oh, I haven't a name for it yet."

"A boat must be christened before it sets sail. Reel it back in."

Christian did as instructed, and Lord Warren squatted next to him to inspect the boat. "What would be a good name?"

The sight of the man and the boy… Emily's hand moved across the pad, sketching Lord Warren's form.

Christian shrugged.

"Well, my brother named his boat Nora's Pin Money , but that wouldn't work for you. Nora is his wife. A lot of men name their boats after their wives, mothers, or sisters. You could name it The Emily ."

Christian dug the toe of his boot into the dirt. "Well, The Emily sounds nice and all, but it's rather girlie."

Lord Warren glanced in Emily's direction with an I-tried sort of shrug.

"What else?" Christian asked.

"If you like puns, you could call it Seize the Day , but spell seize, s-e-a-s ."

"How else would you spell seas ?" Christian wrinkled his nose.

"With an i and a z ." Lord Warren waved his hand. "Never mind. How about something that sounds tougher, like Pirate Catcher or Shark Hunter?"

"Pirate Catcher." Christian galloped a couple of steps out and a couple steps back. "I like that one." He extended his arm as if holding a sword. "Fire in the hole!" He shouted. "Ye better stand down and stop yer pillaging, or we'll fill you full of lead."

Lord Warren met her gaze with a conspiring wink, and Emily laughed.

At least he's fond of children .

He joined in playing pirates with Christian, and she sketched the outline of his hair as the sun illuminated it.

Funny. In the sun, Christian's and Lord Warren's hair was the same hue. She leaned against the bridge's railing post and swung her legs as she captured the innocent scene.

The man making cannon noises with her younger brother seemed so contrary to the one depicted in the gossip columns that she found it hard to believe they were one and the same. Lord Warren's rakish reputation had spread like household gossip upon his arrival. Yet, due to his title, the townsfolk seemed willing to overlook such accusations.

If word got out about her birth, would the town make allowances because they knew who she truly was?

Christian handed Lord Warren the string to sail the boat. It was his turn to be at the helm. Lord Warren propped a booted foot on a log and molded his hands as if peering through a telescope in a fair imitation of a Royal Navy captain.

Emily added some finishing touches to her sketch. She flipped the pages back to the drawing she rendered from memory, adding details she hadn't remembered, such as the tiny scar near his hairline and how one eyebrow held more of a mocking tilt than the other.

When Christian tired of playing with his boat, he tied the string to a low branch and dragged Lord Warren to his horse for an introduction. The man hefted Christian onto the saddle and had him hold the reins while he paraded his horse in a circle.

"Look, Em. I'm riding a horse." Christian's face could barely contain his excitement.

"And doing a bang-up job of it." Lord Warren winked at Christian. "I might add."

Emily squared off Lord Warren's chin a tad more and added a few tendrils of hair that curled under his collar.

He wiped the road dust off his hands and aided Christian's dismount, and Christian ran back to battle the imaginary pirates as Lord Warren sauntered in her direction. Emily flipped her sketchbook closed and laid it on the wood.

He settled beside her on the bridge but didn't look in her direction. "He has quite an imagination."

"Indeed."

Christian tossed a rock like a cannonball into the water, careful not to hit his wooden ship.

"My lord, I must thank you?—"

"Please, call me Warren or Jacob," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. He still didn't glance in her direction. "We are neighbors and all."

"I couldn't be so forward?—"

He cut her off with an intimate sideways glance. "You pushed water out of my lungs to save my life. First names should be acceptable, at least when we're alone."

"We're not alone," she said, her voice barely a squeak.

He challenged her with a raised brow. "I hardly think Christian shall mind you calling me Jacob."

"But there are rules."

"Indeed, but why stick with decorum when so many other options exist?"

She fought back a smile but failed. "I wanted to thank you for hosting a party in my honor. I appreciate the gesture, but truly, it is unnecessary. I would have done the same for any man needing rescuing."

His hand thumped against his chest as if he clutched his heart. "And I thought my dashing good looks brought a damsel to my rescue."

Emily felt tempted to push him into the water. "Truly. There is no need."

"Ah, but I have an ulterior motive. You see, hosting is putting your guests first. Entertaining is showing off. I intend to do the latter under the guise of the former."

At his sly expression, Emily burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

J acob savored the musical quality of her laugh. Emily Thompson did not hold a title, wealth, or a lush, voluptuous body, but she plagued his thoughts. Her unique beauty might not be of the fashionable blond-haired, blue-eyed sort, but she was striking, nonetheless. Her elegance seemed to radiate from within.

They sat quietly. He liked that she didn't ramble on as though silence were a form of torture.

A content smile settled on her soft features as she studied the toy ship, clinging to the string as the current churned against it. Even her ear was lovely—small, delicate, and pinned nicely against the side of her head.

Something stirred inside him.

Emily Thompson was an unknown. Since she'd speared his assailant with her arrow, Cupid also seemed to have pierced Jacob's heart with one. She found her way into his thoughts daily, if not hourly. When she saved him, she somehow restarted his heart, made him feel again. Helped him view individuals as people instead of a means to an end. But his rusty heart groaned in disapproval, fearing it couldn't survive another betrayal like Sarah's.

Emily was nothing like Sarah. She was an open book. All her emotions registered on her face for all to see, and watching the display teetered him on a precipice. If his heart toppled over the edge, would he be left battered and bruised, or would he soar like an eagle?

Life was about taking risks, but since Sarah, he'd been careful not to risk his heart.

He knew better.

The corner of Emily's sketchpad caught his eye. He grasped it and flipped it open to the middle.

Emily gasped. "Wait."

She tried to snatch it, but he turned his back toward her. "I'm merely checking your skill to confirm the missive I sent to Lady Kauffman about your talent doesn't need to be rescinded."

"You sent Lady Kauffman a missive? About me?"

The shock in her voice proved she knew exactly who Kauffman was—the woman sat on the Royal Academy board. But more than that, Emily's surprise caused his lips to twitch with laughter. He stared at a cozy picture of her mother sitting in a rocking chair, sewing. It appeared so lifelike, he almost expected the image to blink.

Jacob flipped the page to find Samuel positioned in a tree stand as a deer emerged from the woods. She'd even captured the tautness of his trigger finger, poised and ready.

"These are quite good."

"Please, give it back." She leaned around him and grappled for the pad.

He stood and shrugged her off. "Sorry, I don't take orders."

She scrambled to her feet and came around the other side.

He turned the other direction. "In truth, I barely take suggestions."

"Lord Warren."

He glared at her over his shoulder and flipped to the next page.

"Jacob!"

"Much better." He smiled before his gaze fell on the image of his face staring back at him. His breath caught.

She'd drawn him precisely, from the sweep of hair across his brow to the slight cleft in his chin. It was remarkable. His lips were turned up at the corners in a self-confident smile. She'd even drawn the crease in his bottom lip. Extraordinary.

There was an intimacy in knowing every crevice of his face, and she had captured him perfectly.

He turned to her, but humility rendered him speechless.

Emily's cheeks blazed bright pink. "I-I do these sorts of studies whenever I'm commissioned. I—it's necessary to practice."

He flipped the page to find an image of his profile. Even his hair curled in the right direction. "I no longer doubt your abilities."

He flipped again to find the exact rendering of their surroundings, with Christian sailing his boat and the creek swelling around it. Jacob was kneeling beside him. "You did this just now?"

She moistened her lips.

"You drew this entire scene that quickly." He pointed at his image. "You even drew the tassels on my boots."

"I have an eye for detail."

"Incredible." He flipped back to the beginning and paged through the sketchbook slowly, studying. There were drawings of Christian galloping on a stick horse, a man he assumed was the vicar practicing a sermon behind the podium, her other brother, Samuel, carrying Christian on his shoulders. "Amazing. I can tell they are teasing each other by the glint of mischief you captured in their eyes."

Emily sighed. "They are forever jesting with one another."

"It's what brothers do."

"You are fond of your brother?" She was watching him closely.

" Brothers ." He snorted. "I have two. Alex is between Robert and me. As a second son, he's often overshadowed by our brother, the marquis, but he's managed to stay out of the gossip columns. Sadly, I learned that trick too late."

"You don't care for your reputation?"

"I'm not particularly fond of black. I prefer color, a shade of blue or perhaps violet."

Her lips curled into a smile, and his chest swelled with pleasure. She grasped his humor. Not all women did.

"I appreciate color."

Jacob read into her words. He lowered to sit on the bridge and aided her to rest beside him.

"What is your family like?" she asked.

He pictured his father's sneer, his mother's fabricated smile, Robert's controlling reach, and Alex's quiet removal. And then, there was him—a constant source of disappointment.

"It's much like any other family of the ton ." He flipped to a picture of Emily's family dining together and laughing. "It's not like yours, but I wish it could be."

"Is your family not close?"

"We are, in a way. Robert and I are the most similar, so I frustrate him immensely. He believes he can tell me what I should and shouldn't do, but he also takes the brunt of my father's wrath. For that, I hold him in high regard and try to appease him, but I usually fail miserably."

"What about your other brother?"

"Alex is withdrawn. We get along well, but he's a serious fellow and doesn't appreciate my witty banter."

"Does your witty banter typically get you into trouble?"

"Perhaps…well, yes."

"It sounds as though your middle brother avoids conflict."

"Quite right." Alex often retreated from a room when tempers ran hot.

"And your parents?"

"Mother is full of life, but she, too, doesn't like strife. She's forever covering up for us so as not to stir my father's anger." He smiled. "One time, when I was about Christian's age, I caught a frog and brought it into the house. Mother saw my new pet and pointed toward the door. Unfortunately, at that moment, my father entered the room behind us. She snatched the frog from my dirty hands and stuffed it down the front of her gown. When my father addressed me, I was in a state of shock and couldn't respond. He rounded on my mother, demanding she explain my insolence. She opened her mouth to speak, but that happy little frog nestled in such a warm, cozy spot chose that moment to chirp its glee. Mother jerked in surprise, and it appeared as though she had hiccupped. I couldn't help but snicker, which made Father even more livid. He forbade Mother from consuming spirits during the day before giving me a good thrashing and sending me to bed without supper." Jacob flipped the page back to where he'd begun and passed the sketchpad to Emily. "Mother served me cold porridge for an entire week."

"Your poor mother." Emily bit her lower lip to contain her smile, but her brows tilted in a display of sympathy.

"Catch it! Catch it quick!" Christian shouted and ran after the loose ship careening toward them.

Emily grabbed the emergency retrieval branch next to her and redirected the boat toward them. Jacob gripped the rail and reached for the ship, but it veered closer to Emily. She leaned down and snagged the toy before it sailed past into the reeds. Her balance slipped, and she tipped toward the swirling water.

Jacob wrapped his arm around her waist and jerked her against himself. She crashed into his side and jabbed him in the arm with the dripping toy boat.

Emily gasped. Her lips parted scarcely an inch from his. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with the beating of his heart. He peered into the depths of her amber eyes.

The toy boat tilted, and a trickle of water seeped through the material of his breeches, cooling the heat that flared under his skin.

She lowered her gaze and squirmed against his hold.

He released her. "If you'd planned to bathe, you should have brought a towel."

She shook her head. "It was certainly not my intention. Thank you."

"It seems I've saved you this time." He was sure to put much mirth into his tone. "We're even."

Christian ran across the bridge. His boots clopped against the wooden planks. "Huzzah! You saved the Pirate Chaser. "

"It has survived for another day of pirate hunting." Jacob plucked the ship from his lap and handed it to Christian.

The boy darted off to sail again.

He turned to face Emily, and her delicate eyebrows arched.

Why in heaven would she look at him as though he'd gone mad? Didn't he just rescue her? "Did I miss something?"

She lowered her chin, which emphasized her furrowed brow. "You believe saving me from a swim is the same as shooting your attacker, dragging you half-dead body out of a creek, and pounding on your chest until life returned to your blue face?"

He held his hands up. "I'm not here to split hairs."

She arched an eyebrow.

"I will submit to the lady's good judgement."

"Then I shall add wise to your list of attributes."

The pert smile she issued him unfurled a desire for closeness he'd long since tucked away. The forgotten sensation disentangled itself from the dirt and decay and lifted its head like a new leaf to the sun.

Was five years long enough for the fallow ground of his heart to heal? Or would the new sprout be killed by an unexpected frost?

J acob slid into a wooden bench seat across from Lieutenant Scar at a table in the New Inn of Little Barrington. Smoke from the fire blended with the smell of fresh-cut wood stacked to the right of the hearth. Few patrons frequented the pub at such an early hour—only the innkeeper, who dried glasses, and a man deep in his cups on the other end of the bar.

"Lieutenant?" Jacob acknowledged his handler. "I hear congratulations are in order."

Scar snorted. "Don't make much of it just because I sit behind a desk more than venture into the field."

"Lieutenant Spark's shoes are a hard pair to fill." Jacob accepted the mug of ale from the barmaid. "But there's not a better man for the job."

"I appreciate the sentiments. How is the search for your son?" Scar blew the foam from his mug and sipped.

"I've located him and even spent time with him." He smiled, thinking of Christian sailing his boat. "He looks like me and has many of my tendencies, but…" Jacob puffed his cheeks and exhaled. "You're a papa, and you know me as well as my family. Do you think I'd make a good father?"

"I'm new to parenting, so I may not be the best source." Scar peered at the flames dancing in the hearth. "But we've worked a lot of assignments together, and I've witnessed you risk your life for your country. You stared down the barrel of a crazed traitor's gun bent on vengeance and didn't flinch. You've talked sense into irate men and de-escalated tense situations so that good men on both sides could live another day. The crown asked you to flatter, court, and seduce noblewomen to gather crucial information, but you do everything in your power to keep the women's innocence and hearts intact. Not all agents are as kind. You have honor, good character, and you put others above yourself. Those are commendable traits for a father to pass down to a child." Scar's gaze honed on Jacob. "Not to mention, you've turned over heaven and earth to locate the boy. You've the makings of a splendid father."

Unused to compliments, especially from his hardened handler, heat rose into Jacob's cheeks. He ran a hand over the lower half of his face to hide it. "My plan is to get to know the Thompson family better—get their approval to make Christian's transition easier."

The barmaid smiled at Jacob as she leaned over to wipe off a table. He looked away. His tastes now inclined toward artists with expressive eyes and pert little noses.

Scar waited for the barmaid to return to the kitchen and leaned forward. "Lord Benton's back on the move."

"With the wound in his shoulder, he'll have to leave the pillaging to his cronies."

His handler frowned. "You've had an encounter?"

"Lord Benton accosted me in my coach and meant to kill me. He's still bitter about my last assignment."

"Your intelligence gathered during that party set him in our sights."

Jacob shrugged. "He didn't enjoy discovering me in his wife's bedchamber."

"You think his attack was a revenge plot? Shouldn't he have received his satisfaction on the dueling field?"

"He won't be satisfied until I'm pushing up flowers."

"Let's not allow that to happen, but we must take this highway robbing ring down from the top. Threats to nobles and aristocrats, especially when their wives are with them, puts pressure on the crown." Scar leaned his forearms on the table and whispered, "There've been nighttime carriage raids on the post road near here. Lord and Lady Memphis were leaving Lady Crawford's private house party."

"You think Benton is behind this?"

"That's what I want you to find out"—a determined glint sparked in Scar's gaze—"by going undercover as Lord and Lady Dorsham's driver."