Chapter 3

Leah was frozen, coherent thought lost to this moment. He said it was nothing more than a simple kiss, but then, why did she want to pull him to her and deepen the embrace? She wouldn't deny that there had been a certain awareness buzzing around them, but now her entire body sizzled with it, burning with the passion of a blazing inferno.

She could feel a hand at the small of her back, and with the slightest pressure, he brought her flush against his chest. She sighed when her breasts came into contact with his hard chest. Flames shot through her veins, her blood rushing hot with a need that had always hovered beneath the surface many times before, but now rose with a sweet desire.

She lifted her hands and placed them on his broad shoulders, and then slid them around to his neck. Scraping her nails gently along his nape, she was rewarded with a deep growl. He rolled his hips forward and through all the layers of her skirts, she could feel a distinct hardness sliding along her midsection. She gasped, her hands delving further into his hair.

She stopped when she encountered the ties of his mask.

Dear God, what was she doing? She was a captive, a prisoner of this man's mercy, and yet, she was kissing him as if they were about to become lovers!

Reality rushed back as she pushed away from him. "Stop this!" Her hands were shaking as she turned back to the stew. Closing her eyes, she told herself that she was in control once more, although her pounding heart might suggest otherwise.

"Leah—"

She curled her hand into a fist. "No."

She held her breath, waiting to see what he might say next. She heard the slide of the chair legs as he sat back down. She hoped that meant it was the last of it. She would rather just forget that the most devastating moment she would ever share was with a complete stranger. No matter how much her body might want to continue what they'd started, she would do well to remember she was nothing to him.

The minutes ticked by with slow precision as she continued to stand by the pot and stir. She could have returned to the table and resumed their conversation, but she wasn't certain she could keep her jumbled thoughts to herself.

By the time the stew was finished, she'd worked herself into a flurry of frustration, and not just over that kiss, but her entire future. Leah grabbed a nearby linen and folded it as she removed the pot from the stove. She carried it over the middle of the table and plopped it down directly into the center. She didn't care if the hot metal scarred the wood. She was once again in control of her wayward emotions. "Dinner is served, master."

She tossed the linen down and prepared to leave. In a flash, he'd stood and caught her by the wrist. "Where do you think you're going?"

She lifted her chin. "I'm not hungry."

Those mesmerizing hazel eyes nearly glowed beneath that mask she was coming to despise, and she was relieved to see that the ruthless villain had returned as well. It was much easier to spar with someone she disliked, rather than someone who practiced deception, but made her pulse race.

"I thought I made it clear that you will eat with me."

"Of course. How could I forget that I'm still a prisoner?" She ripped her arm neatly out of his grasp and walked over and sat down on the opposite side of the table, where she proceeded to glare at him.

Visibly clenching his jaw, he slowly got up and went over to the cupboard where he withdrew two bowls and spoons and returned to the table. He set them down in front of her while he grabbed a ladle and began to scoop some out for himself. As the bowl was steaming, he sat back down and glanced at her. "I refuse to continue in this vein. I regret that I approached you as I did. A first kiss should have been with someone you trusted, not a lowly highwayman."

Leah didn't want to release her anger. That would make it too easy to start respecting him, and that would be a foolish error on her part. But since she had never been one to remain upset for long, she decided it would be best to accept the olive branch he was extending.

She got up and scooped some of the stew for herself. She blew on a spoonful to cool it, but before she lifted it to her lips, she added reluctantly, "Very well." She slid the spoon into her mouth and licked her lips.

Harlan hadto force himself to look away from the mouth that tempted him at every turn. He couldn't believe that some other man hadn't snapped her up when he'd had the chance. Fortunately for him, their loss was his gain. But unfortunately, a kiss is all they would ever share. It was part of the reason he'd acted so hastily when he knew he'd been wrong.

And yet…

Until the Crown was secure, he wouldn't dare drag her into the world of conspiracy that he faced on a daily basis. Danger was his constant companion and he knew he would regret it if something happened to Miss Lindquist because of his negligence. They had just met, but it didn't matter. There was something compelling about her that he knew would be difficult to ignore. He had the feeling they would be intertwined for the rest of his life.

He forced his attention to the stew, and they ate in companionable silence for the rest of the meal. When he finally set his spoon down, he inclined his head. "Very well done, Miss Lindquist. I commend your culinary skills."

He glanced at her and she lifted a mocking brow. "I assume that means I am to attempt something just as spectacular tomorrow?"

As much as he didn't want to play this next hand, he knew it was necessary to learn how innocent she was—or wasn't. The individual he was looking for who might cause further strife in London was someone from the continent. He was intelligent enough not to take anyone for granted, be they male or female. For centuries, the fairer sex had been used as effective weapons in war. While they had not reached that point in the unrest as yet, Harlan wasn't taking any chances. The best way to do that was to release her earlier anger. He"d learned it was the fastest way for an opponent to lose their composure and offer something imperative.

Threading his hands together in front of him, he said, "That won't be necessary. I'm quite capable of preparing my own meals."

As suspected, he saw her complexion brighten to a deep rose. Her spoon clattered to the table as her hands clenched at her sides. Her amber eyes narrowed with malicious intent. "Are you saying that this was nothing more than a ruse to see how far you might torment me?"

He shrugged. "You were not injured as far as I can tell, and we both enjoyed a lovely meal together. I considered it as a fitting punishment for trying to escape."

Her mouth went slack, and then she stood up from her chair so abruptly that it fell to the floor with a clatter. "You, sir, are no gentleman to deceive a lady in such a manner."

He calmly wiped his mouth with the serviette. "I can see you have been on the continent for far too long if you believe that times have changed so dramatically in England."

"Indeed," she huffed. "But now that a woman leads the country, perhaps things will change for the better. It certainly can't be any worse with men like you left in charge."

She turned and started to leave the room, but Harlan wasn't finished with her yet.

As her enticing derriere headed down the hall toward the bedchamber that he used to claim as his own, he couldn't resist goading her further, "Are you planning to sleep in that gown all night?"

She stopped. The stiff set of her shoulders heralded her slow pivot back to him. "It's not as though I can retrieve my belongings which are halfway to Birmingham by now."

"As to that…" He glanced over at the parlor. "I should be a very poor highwayman if I didn't procure something of use. It's not just jewels and coin that I'm after." As he said that, he couldn't help but allow his gaze to travel slowly up and down her form.

She returned to him and offered him a deadly glare as she moved over and retrieved her valise. Walking directly back to him, she stood toe-to-toe with him and uttered, "I can't believe I allowed myself a moment of weakness to dare to believe that you might have any sort of honor left within you. I can see now that you have nothing but a black heart and ice in your veins."

He smiled tightly, more wounded than he would have let on. Unfortunately, he couldn't tell her his true purpose for donning this mask.

At that moment, a knock at the door saved him from any sharp retort he might have made now and regretted later. "Ah. It would appear that I am saved any further reply by a timely intervention. Sleep well, Miss Lindquist."

With a huff, she stalked off, slamming the door of the bedchamber just as Harlan walked over and admitted Hugh into the cottage. His friend lifted a brow and offered a slight wince. "I can see things haven't improved between you." In possession of the scent of a bloodhound when it came to food, he added, "I daresay there is a tantalizing aroma coming from the kitchen."

"Help yourself." Harlan waved a hand. As his fellow comrade moved away, Harlan walked into the parlor and sank down heavily on the settee. He ripped the mask from his face and tossed it aside as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He had never hated the thing so much as he did now, because it reminded him of his vow, the duty that weighed heavily around his shoulders, and made a woman like Miss Lindquist absolutely despise him.

"This is quite good."

Harlan offered a side glance to Hugh as he returned from the kitchen. His mask had also been discarded, and his red hair seemed more prominent in the waning light of dusk.

Harlan remained silent as his comrade consumed the fare with gusto. Once he had finished, he gave a delighted sigh. "I adore Marie's talents, but I have to admit Miss Lindquist is a close second."

"I'm glad you think so," Harlan muttered. "It will be the last time you shall enjoy anything by the lady."

Hugh dared to seem annoyed by this fact. "Why couldn't you have refrained from ruffling her feathers and offered her some spark of gratitude?"

"I did," he countered. "However, I remembered that she might be a traitor, and I have a job to do. I cannot allow my conscience to override any empathy I might feel for her. I regret that your stomach doesn't agree."

"Indeed," Hugh returned flatly. "It shall be quite a long summer ahead if I have to suffer much more of your former housekeeper's meals. I should warn you that the rest of the men were looking forward to a change from Mrs. Gwynn."

Harlan's patience was growing thin. "And I shall have to remind them that I cannot procure a fine French chef just to suit their needs when we meet to discuss our current ventures."

Hugh's mouth descended into a grim line. "You've become quite a curmudgeon in your later years."

"I am nine and twenty," Harlan pointed out with a speaking glance. "Not in my dotage by any standard."

"But it has made you entirely too lackadaisical about matters that should be of immense concern. If your men aren't properly cared for, they shall collapse under the weight of pressure in the field—"

With a mumbled curse, Harlan shot back to his feet. "I would hear no more of your nonsense. Do you have anything useful to report from The Prince of Orange or not?"

Hugh sniffed, as if he was insulted, but he shook his head. "Not as yet, but today was the last I've heard from a ship bound from the continent."

Harlan wasn't pleased to hear this. He wanted this mission to be done so that he might move on to something more substantial than watching the roads in the happenstance that a possible threat might be captured. In truth, he wanted to return to the sea. Being a naval captain had comprised some of the happiest years of his life. He felt as though he'd had a purpose, whereas shouting a tired warning to travelers and acting the charming rogue was not in his repertoire. That demeanor went to Hugh, who continued to make more than one lady's lashes flutter. If he wasn't confident in his friend's adoration toward his wife, Marie, Harlan might believe that Hugh would have made a perfect libertine.

"In that regard, there is no need to monitor the roads this evening," Harlan instructed. "I am going to attempt to retire early and I suggest you do the same."

As Harlan began to gather a cushion and blanket from the parlor, Hugh said, "You don't intend to sleep on the floor, do you? I would demand that the lady share the bed."

As Hugh waggled his brows, Harlan was not amused. "The floor is not any worse than a swinging hammock on board a ship." Of course, now that he was a captain, he was given a private bunk on any English vessel.

"Very well." Hugh got to his feet and headed back into the kitchen. "In case this delightful stew disappears, I believe I shall take advantage of it before I leave."

"Do what you will," Harlan retorted. "Just ensure that everything is secure before you see yourself out. We shall all reconvene tomorrow evening."