Hugh’s eyes opened wide in shock, and then narrowed. “I…I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, not exactly,” Beth said, struggling out of Hugh’s arms and standing before him, heart pounding.

  Bother. That certainly made her sound far more nefarious than she truly was…at least, she thought so. Nancy may have a rather different view.

  Hugh frowned, and the thought that she could be disappointing him as well only made further pain rush through Beth’s chest.

  Why did she have this amazing ability to disappoint everyone around her?

  “Right, I think we need to go back a step here,” said Hugh. “You’re not exactly a thief. What does that mean?”

  Beth brought her hands together and twisted her fingers. It was so embarrassing, admitting it like this—but the truth had been weighing on her. Perhaps she would feel better if she confessed.

  Perhaps then, Hugh would understand.

  “I…my sister doesn’t know that I am here,” Beth said wretchedly. “I stole the money to get here from her, and her husband.”

  There. It was said.

  Hugh took a step backward, as though attempting to see her more clearly. Beth fought the instinct to follow him, to keep him close.

  But she had just admitted that she was a criminal, had she not? Why would he want—?

  “Is…is that all?”

  Beth blinked. “All?”

  Of course, he did not know, she thought shamefully. No one could understand if they had not also suffered through poverty. Money, when they had it, was something the three Mead siblings held dearly. It was something to truly be valued, not squandered. The thought of stealing it from another…

  And yes, Nancy was well provided for now, Beth thought frantically, wishing she could spill the whole truth out to Hugh. But how could she? Nancy had married a duke! Surely there were far stricter penalties for those who stole from nobility?

  “All I heard is that you borrowed some money from your sister to find your brother,” Hugh said slowly, that lopsided smile of his returning. “From everything you have said, I would imagine your sister—Nancy, isn’t it?”

  Beth nodded.

  “I would imagine Nancy may not like the secrecy of your…expedition,” said Hugh with a laugh. “But I cannot imagine she would disagree with your aim. I do not think you need to castigate yourself for that, Beth. You…you are a good person. Far better than I.”

  Why was there such bitterness in his voice?

  Beth’s breath was caught in her lungs, every moment a challenge. Not until now had she realized just what a weight her theft had caused. Her shoulders felt lighter, that twinge in her neck was gone, and she wanted to embrace Hugh and—

  She managed to stop herself just before she stepped forward. They had proven themselves unable to control their desires when they embraced, Beth reminded herself with flaming cheeks. It was probably a good idea not to tempt fate again.

  “You know, I don’t think anyone knows me better now than you,” Beth said softly. “Even my sister didn’t expect me to…well. I left a note. But it would have been a surprise.”

  Hugh’s gaze burned into hers. “I rather like that.”

  “Except for Matthew, of course,” Beth added, unable to explain why his look made her feel so…so warm. “My brother.”

  “And I,” said Hugh with a growl, “am not your brother.”

  Beth attempted to avoid his eye as she strode past him and onward, toward the spire, toward another village to find Matthew. “I-I know that.”

  Chapter Eleven

  October 5, 1810

  Hugh gritted his teeth. “Absolutely not.”

  The woman was insufferable! Every time he thought he could feel nothing but admiration and adoration for her—

  “You know, I’m hearing that a lot at the moment,” said Beth sweetly. “And yet, you know, I don’t recall asking for your opinion?”

  Hugh’s jaw was starting to ache. “I just think—”

  “I did not ask for your opinion, or what you think, or anything like that,” Beth said decidedly, jutting out her chin. “And that’s final.”

  “Lord’s sake, woman!” Hugh exploded, turning away and bringing his hands to his head.

  What on earth had he done in life to deserve this? Stick him with a woman, fine. A woman with money, a woman who could take him home. Perfect. So why did she have to be such a…so incredibly…

  Hugh tried to take a deep breath and not to look to his left, where he would see what had precipitated the argument in the first place.

  It was a mistake. Worse, it could be a deadly mistake. The very last thing they should do is what Beth Mead had just suggested, and it was maddening she could not see that!

  So instead, they were standing here in a lane, about a mile from where she wanted to go, arguing about it.

  Hugh’s chest was tight, every breath a struggle. When they had arrived here in this little town late last night, he had thought their luck had finally been turning. There had been chatter at the inn about Englishmen taken prisoner. Beth’s ears had pricked up and before he could stop her, she had barreled off to speak to them.

  Even then, he hadn’t thought she would be this foolish.

  “Beth, I think you need to slow down,” Hugh said in as calm a voice as possible, turning back to her. His stomach lurched. Why were the irritating ones always the pretty ones? “If you even think about going over there—”

  “I didn’t ask you!” Beth said haughtily. “I do not require you to come with me—”

  “If you think I am just going to watch you march over there, to a French encampment of soldiers, then you don’t know me at all!” Hugh said tersely.

  His heart ached at the very thought. Dear God, the danger she would be in!

  Despite himself, Hugh could not prevent his gaze shifting to the field in question. There, high on the hill, flags flying, was a mass of blue and white uniforms. Tents, the smoke of fires, and just out of hearing but somehow felt through the body, the steady beat of a drum.

  Hugh swallowed. It was infuriating. Yes, fine, there was a possibility Matthew Mead was one of the unfortunate men taken prisoner over there.

  He shivered. Poor devil.

  But that did not mean his sister could just—

  “I’ll pay you.”

  Hugh blinked. Beth came into focus, her expression desperate, fingers scrabbling down the front of her corset.

  “Oh, hang on,” he said weakly.

  “You’ll need money won’t you, when we get back to England?” Beth said, her voice tight with panic. “I can give you money—”

  “My opinions cannot be bought,” Hugh muttered.

  Dear God, the woman was beyond desperate. She was despairing. But that did not mean he could happily watch her approach French soldiers and beg for their assistance. Did she have no comprehension of how dangerous that would be? Could she not understand—

  “Every man has his price,” Beth said darkly. “You told me that, didn’t you?”

  Hugh opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again.

  Blast her, she was right. At least, he had almost said that, his treacherous tongue accidentally revealing himself…

  “Every duke has his price…”

  He had managed to cover up the mistake relatively well. He wasn’t sure how he would have explained to Beth that he was secretly a duke. Allowing her to continue to believe the falsehood that he was a spy was weighing heavily enough on his conscience. But this?

  Beth was eying him curiously. “Why are you being so…so strange about this?”

  Hugh’s stomach lurched. “Because…because I feel protective of you.”

  It was perhaps the wrong thing to say, but he couldn’t think of any other explanation. And it was the truth, something he was unaccustomed to telling.

  He had to protect her. The idea of something happening to Beth, the one woman he had ever spent copious amounts of time with and not loathed her by the end of it…it was abhorrent.

  “I just want to keep you safe,” he said, hating how plaintive his voice sounded. He cleared his throat. “As I would do for any young lady, any English lady, in distress.”

  Was that sudden disappointment across her face? A dip of her chin, a bite of her lip?

  Hugh had noticed her do that several times, but there never seemed to be much rhyme or reason for it. Disappointment? Frustration? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, he had to make her understand—even if she may wish to march on ahead, she had to see.

  “Beth, we are outnumbered,” Hugh said softly, throwing out his arms. “There’s a whole army out there, and we are just two people.”

  Beth swallowed. “Right is on our side.”

  “I don’t care who wins this war—”

  “I mean, it is right to try and find my brother,” she said, interrupting him with a soft voice that would brook no opposition. “And even if Matthew isn’t there, someone is. There are men there, Englishmen, whose loved ones may not know they are still alive. We could—I don’t know, take messages back to England…”

  And this, Hugh realized with an unpleasant start in his stomach, was why he liked her so much. Beth Mead had a missing brother, yet she still thought of how she could help others.

  Oh, hang it all.

  “Fine,” he said wearily.

  Beth perked up. “I beg your—”

  “You heard me, come on,” Hugh said, shaking his head. “We’d better get over there and away as quickly as possible. And may God forgive me.”

  It was worth it, even before they arrived at the encampment, just to see the smile on her face. Oh, hell, Hugh thought wretchedly as they left the lane and started tramping over the muddy field. Wet boots, damp breeches, and he was falling in love…

  The soldier stationed on guard looked suspicious as they approached.

  As well he might, Hugh thought. If he was stationed to alert a whole regiment of soldiers about danger, a woman and a man approaching would look very suspicious indeed.

  “Hold!” the soldier barked in French. “Who goes?”

  Hugh glanced at Beth, who appeared a little dismayed but resolute.

  “My name is Elizabeth Mead,” she began, “and—”

  “Brothel is to the left,” snapped the soldier. “On your way—”

  “How dare you! I will have you know, I am a lady of good repute. I would never—”

  “I think I’ll take it from here,” Hugh said hastily, stepping protectively between the berating woman and the astonished soldier.

  Not to protect her, of course. Beth did not need anyone to protect her. It was more the soldier he was worried about—Beth looked as though she was about to launch herself forward and attack him. Honestly, he didn’t fancy the soldier’s chances.

  “She should be locked up!” the solider muttered in French. “Outrageous, how she—”

  “We have come about the English prisoners,” Hugh said. “We were told they would be ready for us.”

  He could almost feel Beth’s surprise behind him, and hoped to goodness the soldier did not look too closely.

  It was a gamble, that was for sure. But he had found just marching into a place and demanding what you wanted tended to get you precisely that. What you wanted.

  Perhaps it was a habit he had gained as a duke. Perhaps wealth, nobility, a certain type of upbringing permitted one to march about the place and always get your way. Hugh wasn’t sure. What he did know was that the soldier looked disconcerted about being spoken to like that, and that was precisely how he wanted him.

  “Come on, come on, I haven’t got all day,” said Hugh, allowing irritation to seep through into his words. “Where are they, man?”

  “They—we were not told—five tents along,” stammered the unfortunate soldier.

  Hugh nodded curtly, as he imagined a spy may do. You know, this wasn’t half bad, once you got used to it. After no privileges as a duke for the last six months in France, it was rather pleasant to have someone immediately snap to attention and obey your every whim.

  “Well come on, show us the way,” Hugh said fiercely.

  Beth stayed close to his side as they walked slowly into the French camp. If she was anything like him, her heart would be hammering. This was dangerous, foolish, even for him. He may not care what happened to him, but the thought of one of these men hurting Beth…

  Curious eyes followed them as they trailed after the solider taking them to the tent. Hugh ensured to keep his back straight, head up, and exude that nonchalance his father had demanded he portray.

  “The world should know you’re a duke, even if you haven’t been introduced,” he would always say. “The world is watching.”

  And by God, didn’t he feel it? By the time they reached the tent in question and were ushered in, Hugh was relieved. He wasn’t entirely sure how much longer he could do that.

  There were three men, all in various states of injury, in the tent. Hugh saw Beth’s eyes widen, dart about, and then close in unspoken misery.

  His heart sank. Matthew Mead was not here.

  “That will be all,” he snapped at the French guard.

  “But—”

  “I said that will be all!”

  Hugh waited just two heartbeats after he’d gone to rush to Beth’s side. “Beth—”

  “He’s not here,” she said, drawing a deep, ragged breath. “But that just means he is somewhere else. I will find him.”

  Damn, she was impressive. Hugh hardly knew what to do with himself—comfort her? How? She appeared to have taken the absence of her brother to heart, then immediately regrouped and made her next determination.

  Which, unfortunately for Hugh, appeared to involve him.

  “We’ll take them with us.”

  Hugh blinked. “We absolutely will n—”

  “Get ready, men, we’re breaking you out of here,” Beth said cheerfully. “Gather all your belongings and—”

  “Beth!” Hugh hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her aside, chest tightening. What in blazes was she playing at?

  She looked up, all innocent eyes and rosebud mouth. “Well we can’t leave them—”

  “This is a tent, woman, not a wall,” Hugh said in a dark undertone. “You cannot just announce an escape! Did you not give a moment’s thought to the fact we are being spied on?”

  Beth appeared about to retort, but some of the fire left her eyes. “Ah.”

  “Ah, indeed.” Hugh shook his head. There was much to admire about this woman, and he was learning new reasons with every passing day. But subtle, she was not.

  “But Hugh—”

  “Stand here, and be quiet,” he demanded.

  Striding toward the three Englishmen who looked completely bewildered, Hugh tried desperately to think.

  He had managed to talk his way into here. He was almost certain he could talk himself and Beth out—after all, they were not in the uniform of English soldiers. But encouraging a regiment to release three prisoners? They weren’t just outnumbered. They were outgunned.

  Hugh’s stomach twisted, fingers clenching momentarily into fists. “If we can leave, we should,” he said in an undertone to the three men. “You can all walk?”

  They nodded.

  One said quietly, “I had no idea English spies were—”

  “Are you ready to leave right now?” Hugh cut across him, glancing at Beth. That was all he needed, for that falsehood to be confirmed in her hearing. “Right. Let’s go.”

  Confidence, he told himself as he pulled back the tent flap for Beth and her three English rescues—soldiers. That was what he needed. To demonstrate so much confidence, it was almost impossible to question.

  Hugh swallowed. If that were possible.

  Striding onward, he kept his eyes forward and did not bother to look at the French soldiers on either side of them as though they were so below his notice, he hardly saw them.

  And it almost worked, too. In fact, the five of them had managed to reach the very edge of the perimeter where the guard solider they had already spoken to was still standing. The three soldiers marched past him without looking back.

  The tension in Hugh’s chest started to melt away. Well, they may not have found Matthew Mead, but they had at least done something. Now all he had to do was—

  “I still think there is room for you in the brothel, monsieur,” leered the French soldier. “If you ever get tired of that one.”

  For a moment, Hugh had no idea who the man was talking to. Then he noticed the pointed stare, right at him.

  And fury, real fury, the like of which he had never known before, burst out of his heart and flooded his veins. That anyone could talk about Beth like that—the woman had been insulted and he would not stand for it!

  “Hugh—”

  She put a hand on his arm, but Hugh swiftly shrugged it off. The English soldiers had broken into a run, they were almost at the hedgerow, and no one seemed to be after them. That meant he could do what he liked.

  “You cur!” Hugh spat through gritted teeth, lunging at the Frenchman.

  The thing was, he wasn’t getting very far. For an instant, Hugh could not understand why—then he registered the weight on his back, the hands around his chest.

  “Hugh, no!”

  “Oh, you think you wish to defend your pretty lady?” scoffed the French solider. “Why do you come here, eh? Taking away our prisoners, flaunting your woman—”

  Hugh roared, words utterly lost, just anger pouring from his lips.

  But Beth was stronger than expected. Her sheer weight was preventing him from advancing, and though Hugh would dearly love to punch the idiot on the nose, he could see out of the corner of his eye a few other French soldiers running over, eager to see the cause of all the noise.

  Swallowing bitter bile, hating he was unable to do anything but conscious he had Beth to think about, Hugh tried to take a deep breath. His head was pounding, pain shooting across his temples, but he couldn’t stay.

  He had to walk away.

  Every single step cost him. Beth was no longer hanging onto him, instead half walking, half running alongside him. They strode away in silence, though even if she had spoken, all Hugh could hear was pounding in his ears.