Page 55 of Lady and the Scamp

“No other windows. We’ll have to peek through that front window.”

“What if they see us?”

“We make sure they don’t.”

She opened her mouth to protest further, but he took her hand and pulled her along before either of them could think too closely about the danger. Will had learned that sometimes he simply had to dive in and hope for the best.

Will motioned for Emily to stand at one side of the window while he ducked beneath it and stationed himself on the other side. The low murmur of voices could be heard. It sounded like a mixture of English and the Irish Gaelic.

Very slowly, Will leaned toward the window and allowed one eye to peer inside. The window was at chest height, and he was careful not to let his body cast a shadow. The small group sat huddled together, studying a paper laid out on a table. The man Emily thought might be the footman was directly across from the window and clearly visible. He had red hair and clutched his cap in his hands.

Will didn’t recognize him at all.

He stepped back and gestured to Emily to peer through the window. He held his hands out and pushed them down slightly, a gesture he hoped she understood to mean “move slowly.”

She did move slowly, imitating his earlier actions and moving so one eye could look through the window. Just as quickly she snapped back again, pressing her back against the warehouse. Her face was pale, even paler than usual.

Will ducked beneath the window, crossed to her, and took her hand. He led her around the side of the warehouse again then took her shoulders. She was shaking. “What did you see?” he asked.

“It was him,” she said. “No question.” Her voice trembled. “I’ve seen him at the palace. Will, my God. He’s a traitor.”

Will felt the surge of excitement. Finally, he had his man. All that was left now was to return to the palace and wait for the man to show himself. He could be taken into custody and questioned, forced to reveal his accomplices.

The rain was coming down harder now, causing rivulets to run down the street and into the river behind them. For the first time, he noticed Emily was soaked, her hems heavy with the wet. As much as he wanted to return to London immediately, traveling in this weather might be treacherous. Not to mention, Emily could catch her death if she sat in wet clothing and shivered all the way back.

“Come with me,” he said, pulling her away from the warehouse. “We’ll dry off and make a plan.” He hurried away from the warehouse, tugging her behind him. He took one quick look back to ensure the door to the warehouse remained closed then stopped at a movement.

“What is it?” Emily asked, looking over her shoulder.

Will stared at the spot, narrowing his eyes. But nothing moved now, and he couldn’t discern any shapes. It was probably just a cat or the rain.

“Nothing,” he said and tugged her along again.

“I THINK YOU MUST BEcursed,” Emily said an hour later when they sat in a private room at the posting house. She was near the fire, and though it blazed, she was still cold and wet and miserable.

Will raised a brow at her words and sipped from his coffee. He’d slicked his wet hair back, and the firelight played on the planes and contours of his face. She looked away, finding him too handsome as always.

“It seems every time I am with you,” she continued, “I am cold or wet or injured.”

“I can’t help the weather,” he said. “England in the springtime is wet. Next time I’ll tell the separatists to wait until summer to try and kill the queen.”

She hated how charming he was. How he made her want to smile, despite her cold feet and aching head. She sipped her tea and imagined the warmth of it traveling all the way down to her toes. She longed for a bath and bed and her own chamber back at the palace. “It must be dark by now,” she said. “Shouldn’t we start back?”

“Give me a moment.” He rose and stepped out of the room. She heard him speaking to the innkeeper and then all wasquiet, and she was alone. Well, it was not quiet exactly. The rain thundered on the roof of the inn and slapped against the window. The curtains were drawn, but if she should open them, she knew she would only see darkness and the streaks of water. She could imagine the ships in the river tossed about by the howling wind. It would not be as rough as the sea, to be sure, but the sailors on their vessels would not pass an easy night.

It was difficult not to remember last night and compare it to this. Then she’d lain in Will’s arms, sated and warm and content. Her only concern was whether he might ever come to love her as she did him or whether their affair would end as suddenly as it seemed to begin.

How much had changed since then, since she’d realized who he really was. Her anger had subsided now, replaced by practicality and reason. Of course, he couldn’t tell her who he really was. This was not a game he was playing at. This was life or death.

Perhaps he would forgive her for being an idiot. She could blame it on the stress of the past few days—she’d been attacked multiple times, shot, kidnapped...

He’d wanted to protect her. How could she be angry at him for that? And yes, he’d suspected her of treason, but seeing the footman in the warehouse with the queen’s enemies made her realize that anyone could be an enemy. It was even worse that the footman was the one who reminded her so much of Jack. Despite what the queen’s courtiers thought, Jack had never been the queen’s enemy.

The door opened again, and Emily smiled at Will when he entered. His step faltered slightly, and he gave her a questioning look. No doubt he wondered why she should smile at him when she’d been scowling at him all day. “I have good news and bad news,” he said carefully.

She raised her brows. “Go on. The good news, please.”

“The good news is that the innkeeper has a room.”

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