Page 41

B ASH SANK DOWN ONTO THE tavern bench at the end of another shift, a thick stew in front of him.

With Sir Thomas out of London for a day or two yet, Bash had decided it was best to continue his duties to the Crown instead of chasing after the man.

If he left his post the moment he had supposedly returned for duty, it would surely rouse suspicion.

It wasn’t his preference to let the matter rest, but he needed to keep to his shifts lest people put together that the absences of Bash always aligned with the appearance of the highwayman who was beginning to grace the newssheets of England.

And then, of course, there is the small matter of Brigand still being in Bath …

“Here.” Wynn thrust a letter into Bash’s hands.

“What’s this?” Bash dropped his spoon on the rim of the bowl and opened the missive, scowling at … He squinted at his friend’s scrawling penmanship. “Is this a list of sorts?”

“Call it a guide to wooing your lady.” He grinned, avoiding the mention of Vivienne’s name in such a place. “After I left you to your post, I decided that you desperately needed help and wrote a list for you.”

The men at the table hooted, stomping their feet, while one tossed a roll at Bash. He caught it and bit into it, glaring at the ensign who dared throw it. “I don’t need—”

“You are obviously in love with the lady, and this is the way for you to win her heart.” Wynn tapped the paper. “I even numbered it for you.”

Bash narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t even married or courting a woman. Why would I, or anyone for that matter, take relationship advice from you?”

“It doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to woo a woman.

Because I am a second son, my choices are limited, and besides, I just haven’t found the one I wish to woo.

You have.” He straddled the bench, pointing to the first item on the list. “You said she’s a writer.

I figured purchasing her some new fancy writing tools would be just the thing to start with as a gift, as well as some of that extravagant paper the Prince Regent prefers. ”

Why didn’t I think of that? Bash frowned and stuffed the note into his pocket before he rose, intending to leave the rest of his meal in favor of privacy.

He dug into his satchel, grabbing a handful of surprisingly edible cookies that he had made the other day and brought to share.

Baking had become a sort of necessary hobby when it was recently decided that the Yeomen of the Guard no longer be given a table at St. James’s Palace for meals.

Granted, the yeomen were given a board wage, but he was attempting to save funds, and tavern fare grew old quickly after the spread that had been available to the yeomen at the palace.

But he didn’t mind the challenge of learning to bake, as he preferred to spend his evenings at home rather than at the gentlemen’s club at White’s.

He bit into the Shrewsbury biscuit as he glared at Wynn and left the table.

He would rather eat these to fill his belly than stay for the stew and be heckled.

He did not embarrass easily, but this was a private matter, and the tavern was not the place to discuss anything regarding a lady, even when one did not use a name.

He secretly did wish to review the list, but not in front of the group of guffawing guards.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” Wynn called after him, laughing and already sliding into Bash’s place to consume the stew.

Bash pulled on his hat and rolled his eyes at the men’s continued laughter.

He strode home and lit the taper in his small, rather dingy parlor.

He hadn’t realized how dingy it was until he had begun searching for a London home for Evie.

The woman deserved to live in a palace, but the best it seemed he could do was lease a small townhouse.

He had two candidates but wanted to write to her first and see which she would prefer.

That would require him penning something else rather than getting directly to the point, of course.

If he did not say something sweet in his letter now, she might get the wrong impression.

He sighed and removed his satchel. Guess it can’t hurt to see what Wynn has to say before writing.

He set aside his weapons and retrieved the list, sinking down at his desk.

One, buy her fancy paper to show her that you were thinking of her.

Two, serve her. Find a need and meet it.

He scratched his chin, the end-of-the-day growth bristling against his fingers. Find a need? She was a lady. If she had a need, she’d summon a servant. What could he possibly offer her? He sighed. He might have to consult Wynn after all.

Three, spend time with her doing something she enjoys.

Four, woo her with words from your heart, praising attributes of the lady. Be genuine. Women can smell a counterfeit compliment a mile away.

He wanted to snort at that, but there was such wisdom in it, he would be hard-pressed to ignore it.

Lastly, hold her hand, and when the time is right, kiss her as best as you can. I know you don’t have much practice, but it’s all in the pucker—

He stopped reading. He had no need of kissing advice, but Bash took the time to copy the recommendations into his daily log, challenging himself to add one more idea per day to the list on how to get his Evie to fall in love with him.

It was disconcerting to be out where no sounds, other than night creatures, reached her ears.

She had never truly been alone before. She had always been near someone, but if gentlemen could do this all the time, she would fight through her fear.

She had Brigand and her weapons and the Lord Almighty watching over her.

Dressed in Bash’s black, she was given a layer of confidence that she did not possess in her muslin gowns.

She didn’t know how long she had ridden, but if her derriere was any indicator, she had been in the saddle for approximately two years.

At the trickling of water, Brigand’s ears twitched, and he snorted.

“Would you like some water, Brigand?”

He tossed his head, snorting again.

“Bash is right. You are extremely intelligent as well as handsome.” She guided Brigand off the road before the bridge. The horse drank deeply, and she patted his neck, not daring to release the bridle for even a moment as she shifted her canteen to uncork it with one hand.

She longed to slide off and stretch her back, but she feared that if she removed herself from her perch, not only would she be too stiff to return, she wasn’t confident she could climb back into the saddle without some sort of mounting block.

The horse shifted. “I’m sorry, Brigand. I know you are used to carrying more weight than this, but surely Bash would dismount and give you a break.”

Voices from the bridge above made her heart skip. The clopping of hooves sounded. She drew back the horse from the river. He snorted in protest. Two men peered over the rail and caught sight of her. Blast. She should’ve just let the horse keep drinking.

“Oy!” a man with a beard called.

“Good evening,” she returned, with her manliest voice. She sounded quite like a frog. She coughed. She should have practiced her voice.

“‘Good evening’? Do you hear the tongue on him? Sounds like a gentleman.” Mr. Beard snorted. “What’s a gentleman doing out this late alone?”

“Mayhap we should part the gentleman from some of his coin as a lesson.” The second man joined in the laughter.

“Or all of his coin and his horse.”

She did not wait to be approached. She kicked Brigand, urging him to cross the riverbed.

He trotted forward, and to her relief, it was shallow enough to cross in haste.

She urged him into a gallop, racing down the road.

Bash knew his horseflesh, and Brigand easily outran the two inferior beasts the thieves rode.

She cast a glance over her shoulder, and seeing no one, she slowed Brigand to a trot and then to a walk. She patted his mane. “Good boy. Bash would be proud of you for taking such good care of me.”

She nudged Brigand back into a trot for a few miles more until, at last, she spied a tavern in flickering torchlight.

Dare she stop and rest her horse? His heavy breathing and flecked chest said that she would do irreparable damage if she did not take the risk.

She guided the horse into the yard. The ruckus laughter inside the tavern streamed out, making her knees knock at the debauchery she was certain to encounter at this hour.

Lord, help me get through this night. Save Grandmother. Save me.

She urged confidence into her shoulders and kept her head down, shielding her features with Bash’s hat as she and Brigand approached the stable.

A young man stepped out, eyeing her weapons. “You be needing a room for the night?”

“Nay. I wish to stable my horse for the night and fare for my belly. I will stay in his stall.” She dug into her pocket and her gloved fingertips found the coin.

She tucked her thumb under it, flicking it to him.

It flopped from her hand and landed under her horse’s hooves.

Brigand stomped the coin into the mud. Heat crawled up her neck, but she laughed, too deeply, like a man who had been in his cups.

She clamped her mouth shut, running her gloved hand over her jaw.

“I am more exhausted than I thought. Take care of him and another coin shall find its way into your pockets tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” He took the reins.

She grabbed the saddle and prayed her legs would hold her. She dismounted and released the leather, crumpling to the ground.

“Sir!” The man leapt forward, grabbing her elbows and drawing her to her feet.

Her hat’s brim collided with his, knocking it from her head and exposing that her golden hair disappeared into her collar. His jaw dropped. To her horror, he knew. Even if she wished to leap upon Brigand and ride for the next tavern, she couldn’t. She lifted her hands. “Please do not say a word.”

His gaze went from her weapons to her hair and then down to her breeches. His ears reddened, and his gaze snapped up. “What are you about? Are you some highwaywoman?”

Truth, or go with the highwaywoman? Either would be difficult to believe given her current state of dress, but bearing tales had gotten her in this mess in the first place.

“I do not want any trouble. I just need to rest my horse before continuing on to London. I have money.” Not much in my pocket, but enough.

“If you allow me to rest in my horse’s stall on a blanket and fetch me some food from the tavern, I shall give you a crown.

” She reached into her pocket and found the right coin with her fingers, holding it up in the lantern light.

It was a risk to spend so much, but she did not wish to eat the meager fare she had packed yet.

“Agree and be silent and it is yours. Can I trust you?”

He nodded. “I’ll fetch your food and then see to your horse. There is a spare blanket in the trunk by the last stall on the left.”

She nearly sagged with relief. She made certain her hair remained tucked into the high collar and shoved on her hat.

She would not risk anyone entering the stable and seeing her without it.

She grabbed the blanket from the trunk and opened the stall door.

She wrinkled her nose. It had been freshly strewn with hay, but nothing covered the residual mess left from years of horses.

She laid out the blanket and whistled for Brigand. He trotted up to her and into the stall. “Good fellow. Watch over me while I sleep?”

He tossed his head up and down before nuzzling her, as if promising he would see to her safety.

She left her weapons on and had sunk onto the blanket, barely keeping her eyes open, when the man knocked on the stable door.

She scrambled to her feet. He had brought her a hunk of bread, cheese, and a tankard.

“I figured you wouldn’t like beer. I had them make tea, but I cannot guarantee its drinkability.”

She accepted it with a nod. “And just so you are aware, my horse is intelligent and will guard me better than any dog.” She drank deeply, coughing at the bitter taste of too-strong tea.

He dipped his head. “I may not be born a gentleman, but my ma raised me to be a man of God. You are safe with me. Coin or not.” He held out his hand. “The name is Thaddeus.”

She grasped it. “I believe you, Thaddeus.”