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Leona glanced at Jewitt. Then the wind whipped her hair into her eyes, obscuring her vision.

She dare not let go of the cloak to push it aside.

She gathered her cloak up higher to facilitate walking.

Her other hand, hidden beneath the cloak, was wrapped reassuringly around the butt of Mr. Tubb’s pocket pistol.

She set off purposefully, her mind alert to all possibilities for escape.

Watching her, Deveraux groaned silently and set off after her, measuring his pace to hers.

It was the cold, drenching rain that began half an hour later—worse than December’s sleet—that was Leona’s undoing.

Her pace slackened as her spirits flagged.

The numbing cold rain sapped her strength, and her wet wool cloak and riding habit soon weighed her down.

Moving became a struggle. Rivulets flowed from the brim of her dainty riding hat down her face, stinging her chapped cheeks.

Her hands froze in their rigid positions around the butt of the pistol and the folds of her cloak.

She sneezed, and her thoughts shifted from escape to attaining her dry cottage.

The steady gray rain obscured visibility and mired the fields they crossed.

Leona slipped on the slick winter-browned grass, falling to her knees.

Deveraux leaped forward to help her rise.

Her left hand let go of the cloak as she instinctively-grabbed on onto his arm.

He caught a quick glimpse of a pistol clutched in her right hand, her knuckles nearly white about the butt.

His eyes flared once, then resumed their narrowed expression.

He pulled her cloak tightly about her, gathering it up to be grabbed by her hand again.

She threw him a grateful glance as her numb fingers closed around the material.

He studied her face. Her pallor was deathly pale save for the harlequinesque bright red patches on her cheeks.

Her eyes appeared more sunken than normal, the skin around them gray.

She was tiring, unused to physical exertion under these conditions.

He admired her quiet fortitude. Many officers during the rugged peninsular campaigns did nothing but complain! Leona was stoically silent.

With a grim expression, he put his arm around her to help her up the steep slope.

Behind them, Jewitt and North snickered.

Deveraux didn’t care, his mind turning over the knowledge of Leona’s little gun.

He had no doubt his love was bold enough to use it.

The problem was he doubted her ability to choose her time wisely, owing to her weakening state.

He needed to counsel patience. But how to communicate that?

“How much farther, Miss Leonard?” He kept his voice loud, so North and Jewitt would have no cause for suspicion.

She twitched under his hand, startled to hear his voice. “Another mile, maybe two. It’s much closer cross-country like this, but I’m not certain by how much.”

“Fie on you, Miss Leonard,” North said with a harsh, mocking laugh.

He rode closer. “I understood you to be managing your brother’s property.

Surely, if you were a good manager, you’d know Lion’s Gate’s property boundaries!

” The wet saddle leather squeaked as he stood up in his stirrups and looked ahead.

“I make them to be just over this ridge and down the other side to the copse of trees that border this field. What do you say to that, Miss Leonard?”

“No doubt you’re right. I’m too tired to say anything.”

“Oh! Did you hear that, Sally? Says she’s too tired.. . . I know just the remedy for that. A nice run down the hill.”

“That’s enough, North,” Deveraux snapped. “She’s near exhaustion and fainting from the cold.”

“Ooooo, listen to the lover defend his lady,” cackled Jewitt. “Just like his brother should have done,” she ended morosely.

“Stubble it, Sal,” North said harshly. He needed her here, not somewhere out of reality.

She made a face at him, then shrugged.

Deveraux squeezed Leona’s right arm just below the shoulder. “Patience, my dear,” he said distinctly.

She lilted her head and blinked, looking at him owlishly.

He squeezed her arm again. She was about to protest when she realized he was signaling to her.

What was he saying? Something about patience?

She shook her head, her brow furrowing. Deveraux swore and didn’t attempt any further conversation until he got her past a particularly rocky outcrop and a small rabbit snare with a rabbit caught, staring at them with a soft brown eye.

North grunted in satisfaction and told them to wait while he dismounted and removed it from the trap. “Dinner,” he said succinctly.

Leona sagged at the mere mention of food. She hadn’t eaten all day. Deveraux caught her, his arm more closely around her as he supported her weight. He pressed her right arm in close to her body, bending it so the pistol rested against her stomach. “Patience,” he said again.

She nodded as his meaning percolated into her tired brain.

Truthfully, she was too tired to try anything.

Holding the pistol became a habit, her fingers too numb to let go even if she wanted to.

She remembered her earlier bravado with wry disgust. She was always cocksure of herself, wanting to stand alone and damn the world.

Deveraux was right. Sometimes one had to let go and be able to share burdens or let others carry them.

It was not a weakness to know one’s limitations.

It was strength. She’d never been one to acknowledge personal limitations.

She was feeling that sorely now. Calling herself every kind of fool, she gathered her diminishing strength to press on a bit longer.

Deveraux kept his arm closely about her as they trudged through the fields and then into the forest that banded a portion of the Lion’s Gate estate.

By the time they reached the narrow road that led to Rose Cottage, he was nearly carrying her.

Behind him, even Jewitt and North were quiet, morosely suffering the cold rain.

Deveraux wasn’t sure that he and Leona weren’t better off moving rather than sitting in a saddle.

North’s muscles could be stiff and slow.

He felt Leona stumble again. His mouth compressed into a grim line.

It didn’t matter what state North’s muscles were in.

He didn’t dare try anything with Leona in this weakened condition. He’d bide his time.

Rose Cottage appeared like a heavenly vision before Leona’s tired eyes.

Eagerly she started for it, only to stumble again in weakness.

It was so close, yet somehow now it seemed so far away, like in a dream.

She looked up at Deveraux in the gathering gloom of late afternoon, her eyes pleading for something, but she didn’t know what.

Without a word, he swooped her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the cottage.

"Hold up there!” North ordered. He slid from Nuit’s back, pulled the spare pistol out of his breeches where he’d tucked it, and handed it to Jewitt.

“I’ll take the horses around back and see to them.

You take these two inside and lock them in some room together.

” He grinned wolfishly. “That ought to keep their minds off trying to escape.” Jewitt led them into the cottage.

She sniffed arrogantly as she looked around.

“I grew up in a house better than this!”

Deveraux edged past her toward the stairs.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find a bed to lay her down on. She’s exhausted.”

“I’ll choose it. Move out of the way.” She pushed past him on the narrow staircase.

Deveraux followed behind slowly. Anytime he could have overpowered the woman, but with Leona unable to fend for herself, he dared not try.

He waited while Jewitt poked and prodded in both bedrooms. Finally, she waved the pistol in his face and motioned him into one of the rooms. After he entered, she shut the door behind him and locked it.

The room was almost dark. He stood for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Only a faint light from the last of the day’s sun came in the dormer window.

Carefully he set Leona on her feet, his arms around her to keep her balanced.

He had to get her out of the wet clothes before he laid her on the bed.

Murmuring vague, soothing phrases, he unclasped the cloak, allowing it to fall in a wet heap on the floor.

He was relieved to discover that her habit, though wet, was not soaked like the cloak.

He pried her fingers loose from the pistol butt and reached over to yank a drawer open in the dressing table and drop it inside.

His lips against her temple, he murmured her name and a hundred other little endearments as his hands moved to unbutton her jacket, stripping that from her arms, and then the habit.

She made a little mewl of protest, batting weakly at his hands when he pushed the habit sleeves off her arms. He was glad to hear it.

It meant she wasn’t totally lost to him.

He murmured more soothing, coaxing words as he removed her chemise and stockings, and she stood naked before him.

His body betrayed him. A subtle sheen of sweat glistened on his cold brow. Damn. He should be too cold for this.

His fingers shook as he touched her. His mouth tightened into a grim line as he ordered his body to obey his mind.

He groped in Maria’s drawers until he found a flannel nightdress.

He tossed it over Leona’s head, coaxing her arms into the sleeves, then carefully buttoning the front buttons to her neck.

His breath came easier with her covered again.