“Excellent. Thank you, ma’am.” He bowed.

Diantha grinned. She cast him another quick glance as Mrs. Polley gathered her belongings, but he was looking at her with very sober eyes now. Her stomach did somersaults. When he looked at her like this, serious and still, it was again borne in upon her that she knew very little of him, and the notion came to her that the moment on the road when he’d looked dangerous might in fact have revealed the real man, the rest only a facade.

The traveling trunk was retrieved from the road and Mrs. Polley’s luggage gathered, and Wyn saw the ladies into the next southerly bound coach. But before departing he had a private conversation with a quiet lad delivering sacks of grain to the stable—a tall youth whose clothing hung on his frame and who stared at the bone the mongrel was chewing with the eyes of starvation.

With grim satisfaction, Wyn approached him. He’d been at this work for a decade. He knew well how to pick his man.

A coin and very few words later, the lad was nodding in assent.

“I’ll do it gladly, sir. Pa went off to fight the Frenchies and never came back, and me and Ma have been trying to keep my five brothers in shoes and porridge, without much luck. I’ll take this to her”—he gestured with his palm gripped around the coin—“and start off to Devonshire right away. Little Joe’s nearly as big as me now. He’ll take care of the others while I’m gone.”

“The contents of that pouch should be sufficient to hire a horse and pay for room and board along the road, William.”

“Don’t need but a stack of hay to sleep in, sir.”

“As you wish. You may keep whatever you do not use, and I will give you the fee we agreed upon when you return. But haste is essential. And a mum lip. The letter I have given you mustn’t be read by anyone but the baron, or Lord or Lady Savege, and you mustn’t tell a soul of your purpose.”

“Yessir. I understand, sir.”

“Good man.” Wyn left him then, reassured by the look of careful responsibility crossed with sheer relief in the youth’s eyes. What he offered William as payment would be a windfall for the poor family. The lad would make good time to Glenhaven Hall, home of the Baron of Carlyle, Miss Lucas’s stepfather. If the baron could not be found, William was to continue on to nearby Savege Park, the home of her stepsister, the Countess of Savege. If Wyn did not hear back from the baron or Serena and Alex Savege within the sennight, he would send another messenger, this time to Kitty and Leam Blackwood in London. Sister to the earl of Savege, Kitty was family to Miss Lucas too. If she were in town, she would come in an instant.

If he wrote to Constance, she would come, of course. But Wyn did not wish to see Constance before he completed his task, nor really Leam either, the man he’d spent six years of his life with wandering around the empire, working for the crown in secret.

Constance and Leam were the closest he had to family, and Jin Seton and Colin Gray to a degree. Rather, had been. With Leam’s retirement from the club four years earlier, the group had changed. Their secret ring of fellowship had been broken.

But in truth, the change had begun before that for Wyn, more than a year before that, in a rainy London alleyway when he looked into the bloodless face of a scarred girl and saw his own death. When he began to lie to the people he cared for most in the world.

And now, again, a girl was trusting him. A girl who came to him of her own accord and begged him for help.

God help Diantha Lucas for seeing a hero where none stood. But some girls, he supposed, were blind that way.

Diantha didn’t so much mind having been touched intimately by a gentleman. She minded not having been kissed first.

Teresa said men kissed ladies before they took greater liberties, and Diantha had given that some thought. Once before their wedding she’d seen her stepsister, Viola, and her betrothed, Mr. Seton, kiss each other quite enthusiastically when they thought no one else was looking, and her toes had positively curled in her slippers. Since Viola had come away from it with a dazed smile, and Mr. Seton with a remarkably satisfied look, Diantha supposed kissing was something to be desired rather than dreaded.

Her parents had never kissed. Her stepfather, a kind but limp and distracted sort of man, had barely ever come out of his study while her mother lived at Glenhaven Hall. Her real father had always been foxed. Like Mr. Yale in the stable. Which was perhaps why he had not kissed her before putting his hand on her behind.

He had released her swiftly, no doubt because he had not enjoyed touching her like that. How could he have enjoyed it? Just the memory of it made her squirm in shame. If she were like most girls, like the other girls at the academy, slim and delicate, perhaps he might have enjoyed it. Perhaps he would not have stopped. Perhaps he would have kissed her.

The coach rumbled over the rolling Shropshire countryside, Mrs. Polley asleep beside her. She was very amiable, although not particularly pleasant toward Mr. Yale. That couldn’t be wondered at. Like kissing. Elegant London ladies probably kissed gentlemen left and right, which was no doubt why Mrs. Polley did not trust Mr. Yale, for he was most certainly an elegant London gentleman.

Lying in bed fitfully the night before, Diantha had imagined kissing him, and her whole body got hot, like when he’d held her in the dark. It was wrong of her to feel hot like that, she suspected, but she was after all the wayward, wicked daughter of a wayward, wicked woman.

She had always been wayward, from the time she was a little girl. Her mother had said so ceaselessly. In the shadow of her beautiful, sweet elder sister, Charity, Diantha had never been of any use to her mother because of her poor looks and waywardness.

The wickedness, however, was new.

She wanted to kiss Mr. Yale.

He rode behind the coach, drawing the brown horse along as before. The little dog was with him now, but this coachman was much kinder than yesterday’s and didn’t mind it sitting in the carriage. Diantha had nothing to complain about. But at the coach’s next stop, Mr. Yale’s drawn brow alarmed her.

“You are unhappy with me for forcing you to do this,” she said, walking beside him as he led his horses to a water trough. The rain had diminished and sunlight poked through unruly clouds.

“I am unhappy, but rather with myself for not foreseeing the sort of trouble we now have.”

She drew in a tiny breath of relief. “We have trouble?”

“Miss Lucas,” he said quietly, “in my life I have occasionally inconvenienced people in a manner which has left them eager to inconvenience me in return.”

“Inconvenienced?”

“Displeased.”

“But what—”

“I’m afraid I am unable to expand upon the whats and wherefores. Unfortunately, however, I am now being followed by a man who has ill intentions toward me. This, as you might imagine, could prove a hindrance to our progress.”

She studied his profile. “You are concerned for my safety and Mrs. Polley’s. Not for your own.”

He said nothing. Her safety, of course, was the reason he now stood here beside her.

“Where are you taking this horse, Mr. Yale?” She stroked the animal’s neck.

Mr. Yale turned to her, that slight smile pulling at the corner of his mouth that she wanted to kiss.

“You are an unusual young lady, Miss Lucas.”

“Merely curious.”

“She belongs to the Duke of Yarmouth, whose heir, Marquess McFee, lost her in a game of cards to a gentleman of uncertain honor from whom I have recently retrieved her. It is my task now to return her to her rightful owner.”

The horse’s coat was warm beneath her glove. “Is that what you hope to do with me in the end, imagining I will tire of my mission?”

“You are not a horse, obviously. But if you have an owner of whom I am ignorant, I wish you will inform me so that I might not be accused of theft.”

“You often do not answer my questions.”

“Don’t I?”

She darted her gaze up. He was no longer smiling, rather intense, and the change made her belly tighten most deliciously. “How do you propose to avoid this man who is pursuing you?”

“I haven’t an idea of it yet. But I will not allow you to come to harm because of my enemies.”

“You have enemies? Oh, but I suppose everyone does.”

His silver eyes glimmered. “Not everyone, it seems. You befriend each person you encounter. You are in fact an unusual young lady, Miss Lucas.”

“And a London gentleman acting as horse courier to a duke and being followed by a man with a bad purpose while assisting a runaway lady to find her mother—what sort of man is that, Mr. Yale? A common run-of-the-mill sort?”

He offered her his slight grin then nodded toward the door of the pub. “We’ve a quarter hour until the coach departs again.”

“I asked Mrs. Polley to purchase a cold lunch. Will you eat today, sir?”

“Will you cease pestering me about food, madam?”

“Probably not.”

“Just so.”

Wyn watched her move toward the door where the dog sat. As she approached it, the little mongrel’s tail whipped back and forth. She paused and looked back.

“It likes you,” she said.

“Rather, it likes you.” As everyone did. Her smile, her sparkling eyes, and her warmth conveyed affection to every passenger aboard the coach, the coachman, even the surly posting house master at their previous stop. And aside from his desire to have his hands on her again, Wyn liked her too. He would not allow this new danger to threaten her. The man in brown that he’d seen twice now was a curiosity. If the man appeared again, he would discover his purpose.

But today’s threat was a much greater concern. An old acquaintance, Duncan Eads, had appeared earlier on the road behind the coach. He had maintained his distance, but he was not a man to be discounted. Months back Wyn had caused him trouble, stealing a girl out from under the nose of Eads’s employer, a man named Myles who owned a quarter of London’s underworld. Drunk as an emperor at the time—a rather long episode of that—Wyn had made Eads look like a fool and angered Myles.

Eads had no doubt been sent here to finally make him pay. Wyn was of a mind to tell him to get in line.

“We should give it a name.” She bent to stroke the dog’s brow, pulling the fabric of her cloak tight around her behind. Wyn held his breath, entirely unable to remove his gaze from that generous curve of femininity that he’d briefly had in his hand.

“As you wish.”

She offered him a quick smile and went into the pub.

He walked his horses to a grassy spot and loosened their leads to allow them to graze. The village’s high street was peculiarly active; farmers’ wagons laden with children and other adults, a cart, then a carriage of modest quality all passed by within minutes, and a number of people on foot. Eads did not appear, but Wyn suspected he would see him again when the time was least convenient. Perhaps on the road ahead. Eads might now be going around a long route while the coach was halted here, planning an ambush.

The coachman ambled from the pub, tipped his cap to Wyn, and the other passengers followed. Miss Lucas burst out the door.

“Mr. Yale, I have heard the most wonderful news.” Her cheeks were flushed with life. She lowered her voice and pulled Mrs. Polley along. “Today the local squire has opened up his estate to all the surrounding countryside. Apparently this squire, Sir Henry, is quite well-to-do and he likes to throw enormous parties.” She glanced about the street with an expectant air.

“I must be glad for Sir Henry and his guests.” It explained the traffic. “But I am not entirely certain what his magnanimity has to do with you.”

“Oh, not so much me, or only incidentally, but rather you. And the man following you.”

He glanced at Mrs. Polley. Her lips were a line. He returned his regard to the girl whose blue eyes shone with excitement.

“Miss Lucas, may I suggest that you reboard the—”

“No. Don’t you see? This is the ideal diversion.” She grasped his arm, effectively grounding him in total, tongue-tied silence. He’d not forgotten the shape of her body or the heat of her touch from the night before, though he had spent the morning’s ride trying to. Ten years as a secret agent of the crown, yet when confronted with Miss Diantha Lucas, he was, it seemed, all youthful lust all over again. She had a fine figure. Not merely fine. She had perfect breasts, round and high and modestly concealed by her traveling gown, which did not however discourage him from imagining them naked.