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“ T hrough the window ?” Deveraux asked.

“Through the window,” Leona confirmed.

He plucked at the sheets; his eyebrows raised questioningly.

She laughed and shook her head. “No, I am not that simple-minded. That would be too obvious and—I fear—what they expect. No doubt they guard us by setting a chair before the parlor window below!”

“Such was my thought. Almost you relieve my mind.”

“Poor Deveraux, wary of my machinations?”

"Terrified!”

“Good! All the more reason for me not to divulge my plans until we are ready!”

“You, Miss Leonard, have all the makings of a tease.”

“Why, thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

“If you don’t get some other clothes on soon, you may take it as more than that,” Deveraux drawled, rising to his feet in one fluid movement to drop the quilt he held about her shoulders.

Leona glanced self-consciously down at her state of dishabille, a blush suffusing her cheeks and rendering her adorably confused.

Deveraux grinned. “As your subordinate officer, might I suggest we fortify ourselves for our planned exploits? Forgive me for mentioning it, but you were a trifle weak yesterday.”

Leona grimaced. “And helpless.”

He spread his hands deprecatingly. She laughed. Drawing the quilt closely about her, she sat down opposite him to her bowl of lukewarm rabbit stew. The flavor was strong with an odd after-taste, but at least the stew satisfied the hollow cravings in the pit of Leona’s stomach.

Finishing quickly, she began to search Maria Sprockett’s cupboard for a suitable outfit to wear.

Suddenly she found herself yawning. On her third yawn, it finally dawned on her.

They were drugged! Too late, she remembered Chrissy’s complaint about how the Norths made her continually sleep.

Her eyes were closing, and a strange heaviness lay in her chest. She fought to open her eyes. No!

Quickly Leona wheeled around and lurched toward the bed. Deveraux had already fallen back against the pillow. Leona was in the middle of swearing when unconsciousness finally overtook her, and she slumped down on the floor at the end of the bed, dragging a blanket off as she fell.

“Don’t worry. I put enough laudanum in that stew to knock them out until tomorrow morning.”

“So you say. I just want to check.”

Heavy boots clumped into the room. Deveraux felt something pushed up against his nose. He focused on lying still and breathing regularly. A hard hand repeatedly jabbed at his shoulder. It took all his fortitude to keep his muscles relaxed against the punches.

“He’s out all right.”

“I told you. Do you think they’ll pay?”

“Aye, and tonight if they want to see him alive. I’ll not make the same mistake of waiting as we did last time.”

Deveraux risked peering through slitted lashes to see Jewitt and North standing by the open bedroom door. Light from a candle Jewitt held threw their faces into ghoulish relief.

“It was a good plan. It would have worked if it hadn’t been for her,” Jewitt spat.

“But this one’s better, my pet. We can split the money, and you can go off to the continent to join your harridan mother and insipid sister. Faugh! To think that I put up with them for as long as I did.”

She looked momentarily annoyed at his words regarding her family but offered no comment. “Yes. This is a better plan. With the ransom money, I’ll travel to Switzerland and deal with Nevin myself!”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s none of my concern.”

“But, Harry,” Jewitt said in a wheedling voice as she reached out to stroke his arm. “Don’t you want to come with me?”

He shook off her hand as he turned to close the door. “Sally, my girl, the way our luck has run we’re best parted. Besides, I’ve . . .” His voice trailed off, indistinguishable, as the pair descended the stairs.

Deveraux lay still for a while longer to make sure they weren’t coming back.

He heard the front door of the cottage open and close.

Carefully he sat up. His head felt heavy, thick.

Leaning against the wall for support, he made his way over to the window, glad he’d not donned his boots that morning.

He opened the window a crack, breathing in the cold, damp air.

He didn’t know how long he stood there before he realized the heavy lethargy was fading.

He turned his head to look at Leona, wondering if he could rouse her.

Hell. It wasn’t a matter of if—he had to.

He crossed over to her, picking her up off the floor.

She moaned softly. Relief flooded him. She wasn’t out deeply.

He carried her over to the window, setting her feet down on the floor while he held her up before the window.

His teeth set on edge as his body instinctively reacted to the feel of her soft, pliant body against his.

His hands holding her up wanted to slide around to cup her breasts.

Fantasy images of her naked and writhing under his hands threatened to devour his sanity.

She moaned again. Thankfully, the sound was a douse of cold water to his heated, throbbing body. He knew she trusted him. He’d keep that trust sacred if it killed him.

He brought his hand up to pat her cheeks. “Come on, Leona, wake up,” he said, his breathing ragged but determined.

She muttered fitfully, her hands rising to push his away.

“Good girl. Come on, wake up.” His quiet voice was edged with sharpness as he shook her, her head flopping back and forth.

Finally, she resisted his shaking. Her head steadied, and her eyes fluttered open. She blinked at him. “Deveraux?”

He relaxed and grinned, relief flooding him. “You were expecting North, maybe?” he whispered, reminding her of their situation.

She shuddered. “Please, not even in jest. How—how long have we been out?”

He found he was inordinately pleased at the levelheadedness with which she accepted their situation.

She was worth ten heirloom jewelry sets!

“From what I can gather, all day. And, to our favor, they expect us to stay that way until morning. Turn your head toward the window and breath in the cold air. It helps.”

Obediently she did. Finally, aware of his arm about her, she gently pulled herself free. He let her go, his hands falling to his sides.

“I must get dressed.” She walked away from him, too embarrassed to look at him.

He turned his back on her to give her a small measure of privacy.

Quickly she donned an old black mourning gown of Maria’s that had been packed away in the cupboard. It was too short, but that was an advantage to her plan. Luckily, her boots were nearly dry. She carried them over to the window.

“Perhaps it’s just as well that it's night. The night can be our ally,” she said briskly. She grabbed up her brush, pulling it swiftly through her long hair. Then she simply braided it in a thick braid down her back, tying it off with a bit of ribbon from one of Maria’s drawers.

“I propose we climb out the window then up and over the roof of the house. If we move slowly and carefully, the thatch should provide us handholds. Once over the top, we can descend to where the kitchen wing and Maria’s still room jut out as a one-story addition.

Maria’s garden is right outside the stillroom door.

It’s bound to prove a softer landing spot than anywhere else for a leap from the roof. ”

“It’s drizzling outside. The roof is bound to be slick.” He grabbed for his jacket, relieved to see it was finally dry.

She agreed. “But we’ll just have to chance it. My pistol! Where is it?” She grinned when she saw him pull it out of a drawer in Maria’s dressing table. “You keep it. I’ll have my hands full with these blasted skirts.”

He tucked it in his pants then grabbed up his boots.

“Better let me go first.” He slithered out the narrow window and dug his toes into the tightly-woven thatch.

Climbing this roof would prove slow, arduous going.

He didn’t know if this was a wise plan, but phlegmatically he conceded it was their only option, so wisdom bore little importance.

He held his hand out to Leona, pulling her out and up beside him.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement. His heart contracted, but all he did was frown.

Signaling caution, he set out carefully to discover secure finger- and toe-holds in the weathered thatch.

Without a word Leona, gamely followed him, closely copying his hands and foot placements.

He wished he’d thought to tie a line between them.

He didn’t like her climbing after him. There was no one to catch her should she fall.

On the other hand, he doubted her hands were strong enough to pry apart the thatch to make it climbable.

His own hands were rapidly acquiring little cuts and scrapes, the tips of his fingers bearing the brunt of injury.

Luckily Leona had discovered a spare pair of gloves in Maria’s room.

He hated to imagine what her soft hands would be like without them!

Nearly to the top of the roof, one of his booted feet slipped, sliding down to rest on Leona’s hand, which was wedged tight in a handhold.

She bit back a scream of pain, blinking back the tears.

Deveraux reached back to touch her, his eyes anxious.

She nodded, giving him a faint smile, tendrils of wet hair plastered to her cheeks.

He didn’t know any other woman who would not now be reduced to hysterics or vapors.

She was amazing. Cold, wet, and risking her life with every movement, she still could smile.

At the top, he slid his feet over so he could back down the roof. He quickly discovered going up to be easier than going down. Finding handholds became the worse problem.