“There y’are, knew I’d find you here,” he slurred in French as Miss Mead looked alarmed at his sudden arrival. “You got the room then? Excellent!”

  Miss Mead spluttered. “Mr. S-Shardlow, I—”

  “No, I would never keep a whore waiting,” expounded Hugh loudly, glancing back at the two men who had halted in their tracks.

  “A-A whore?” Miss Mead hissed.

  Hugh jerked his gaze to his left. She glanced behind him and her eyes widened.

  A clever woman, Hugh thought with a prickle of respect. Many women would have needed to have the whole charade explained; in truth, he wasn’t sure he’d done that good of a job. But by pretending she was a whore and he a customer, they had shown the two ruffians in no uncertain terms that their “conquest” was otherwise engaged.

  “Well you’d…you’d better come in then,” said Miss Mead, her cheeks pink.

  Hugh saw out of the corner of his eye one of the men step forward. Evidently, he hoped to be Miss Mead’s next customer of the evening—the cheek!

  And the danger. He had to make it clear he possessed this woman for the night.

  “Come here,” he said roughly.

  Miss Mead did not fight him. As Hugh pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips on hers, her hands did not push him away but rested on his lapels, accepting his kiss mutely.

  Well, not completely.

  She whimpered. Had he dreamed that? Hugh could hardly tell. He was lost in a sea of delicious sensations he had certainly not expected when he had first started to kiss the priggish, determined young woman who seemed to have no sense of danger whatsoever.

  But she was far more malleable in his arms. The kiss deepened, tendrils of pleasure roaring through his body as Hugh’s hands pulled her tight.

  Oh God, she was wonderful.

  And then the kiss ended. Hugh blinked, hardly sure where he was. How long had that lasted—a minute? An hour?

  Miss Mead looked similarly dazed, but she had enough foresight to glance over his shoulder. “They’re gone.”

  Hugh blinked. What on earth was she talking about? “Who are?”

  Miss Mead glared. “Come in here, just for a moment.”

  “Why—”

  But Hugh wasn’t given much of a chance to ask questions. Miss Mead had grabbed his hand, opened the door, and pulled him inside.

  The instant she closed the door, she hissed, “Just what do you think you’re playing at?”

  Hugh frowned. Where was the gratitude? The thanks for saving her from a most unpleasant fate? The praise for thinking so quickly on his feet? Most of all, where was his promise of a second plate of roast chicken, now that he had been forced to abandon his first?

  “You could say thank you, you know,” he said sharply.

  “What, thank you for—for insulting me?” Miss Mead said with pink cheeks.

  Hugh took a step forward, raising a pointed finger. “You know as well as I do, if I hadn’t made it clear to those men that I owned you for the night—”

  “Owned me!”

  “Everyone has their price,” Hugh said bitterly. Then he collected himself, and shame did twinge his heart. For all he knew, he was the woman’s first kiss.

  Now there was a thought.

  “I did not intend it to happen, but I could think of nothing else,” he said quietly. “I am sorry, Beth.”

  Whether it was what he said, or how he spoke, Hugh did not know, but Miss Mead appeared to be mollified. He certainly hadn’t intended to call her by her first name. That had just slipped out.

  “Well…thank you, Hugh,” she said, more than a little begrudgingly.

  The trouble was, the kiss had stirred something in Hugh that he had not expected—but now that it was roused, the beast within him rather wanted to be fed. It was hungry.

  His eyes glanced to the bed. “Well, now that I am here—”

  “Out, Mr. Shardlow,” Miss Mead said firmly, though there was a knowing look in her eye that told him she’d had precisely the same thought. “We resume our search in the morning.”

  Chapter Six

  October 2, 1810

  Beth took a deep breath as they entered the town.

  Another day, another town—another set of people to question. What if Matthew had managed to get here and found refuge here?

  Her stomach lurched as she and Mr. Shardlow—Hugh, that was—walked down what appeared to be the main street of the town. She could smell baking, hear the crowded shouts of what had to be a market.

  Perfect. There would be people here from all over. It would be quicker, easier that way to speak to as many as possible. They would find him.

  “We’ll find him, you know,” Hugh said quietly.

  Beth glanced over, stomach twisting as he seemed to answer her unspoken question.

  For some reason, hearing that from him, of all people, made if far more real. He had hardly been the most supportive of gentlemen when she had first requested his help, after all. Perhaps he could see just how the pressure of trying to find her brother was wearing on her.

  “Right, I’ll take the left side of the street,” Hugh said with a bracing tone. “And you the right. When we get to the market, we’ll regroup.”

  Beth nodded, swallowing all her concerns. What if Matthew is dead? What if he’s not here? What if I never find him?

  Questions like that were hardly going to help, she told herself sternly. All she had to focus on was asking the right questions. The trouble was, it grew so monotonous.

  “No, I am sorry, I have not heard of any man like that,” said a woman with a flour-covered apron who came out to serve her in the bakery. “And I think I would have seen one if there was; it is a small town here.”

  Beth nodded, hopelessness growing in her heart. Of course she had not. No one had.

  It was the same story at the butcher’s next door.

  “A man, in English uniform?” The butcher frowned. “A soldier?”

  “He could be wearing just normal clothes,” Beth added hastily.

  It was always awkward, asking a French person if they knew the whereabouts of an Englishman, but it was always worse when the fact that he had been a soldier was raised.

  But she had to mention it, didn’t she? She couldn’t keep that information secret. What if Matthew was wearing his brilliant red uniform? What if that was the detail that found him?

  Though her stomach twisted at revealing the detail, it hurt all the more when the butcher shook his head. “No, sorry, mademoiselle. No man like that has come in here.”

  Beth nodded sadly as she turned to leave. She had never considered herself a particularly downhearted person. It was Nancy who always worried, who saw the dark side of things. Who saw a situation and assumed the worst.

  But now, going into her third week of searching, she would have to be a fool not to consider the possibility that he…

  “Any joy?”

  Beth looked up. She had been standing outside the butcher’s, right at the end of the street where the market was being held. Countless stalls spread out before her, some with awnings, some open to the air. There were squawks and grunts of animals, people hawking their wares in French, and many people milling about, filling their wicker baskets.

  And before her stood Hugh.

  Beth tried to smile. “Nothing. You?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing, as I predicted.”

  Although it was difficult to bite down the retort that she knew full well what Hugh Shardlow thought, Beth managed it. She would not give him the satisfaction.

  He was a strange man. Entirely secretive about his past and what had brought him to France, he seemed at one moment to encourage her, and at others, tear down all her spirits.

  “Someone has seen Matthew, because he is alive,” she said firmly.

  She did not miss the flicker of disbelief across Hugh’s face. “Of course.”

  Oh, it was almost worse that he said that if he did not believe it. Beth wished she could put into words how frustrating he was. Could he not just understand?

  “You’re very cheerful, considering we haven’t made any progress.”

  Beth shot him an irritated look her sister certainly would not have approved of. “We have made progress.”

  “Oh?” asked Hugh lightly as he started to walk toward the market.

  Beth matched his steps, trying to ignore just how long his strides were. She had always considered herself tall, but this man was at least a few inches taller.

  “We have ruled things out,” she stated, as though that was just as exciting as discovering her brother alive and well. “That is half the battle.”

  “But it won’t win you the war,” Hugh pointed out as they reached the first stall.

  Beth bit her lip. Then she forced herself from the habit.

  The worry churning in her stomach, however, did not disappear. If only it were that simple: decide she no longer cared about her brother, decide it was possible to abandon him to his fate, and disappear off home.

  Why, if she could do that, she never would have come here to begin with, would she?

  Beth sighed. Matthew was somewhere, and the odds were, it wasn’t somewhere pleasant. He could be cold, hungry, lost, in pain. All four, or worse. He could have a fever, have no idea where he was. He could be a prisoner.

  How on earth was she supposed to find him?

  “Cheer up.”

  Beth shot an irritated look at the man who appeared far too cheerful, to use his own word. “How can you say that?”

  “Because I have absolute faith in the one thing I believe is to your brother’s benefit,” Hugh said, picking up an apple, examining it, and then placing it back in the bushel.

  Beth frowned. As far as she could see, Matthew had very little on his side. He didn’t even speak French that well. What had he been thinking, enlisting in the army?

  “Oh?” she prompted, as Hugh continued walking languidly and picked up a cheese, sniffed it, made a face, and put it back. “Absolute faith, you say? In what?”

  Hugh’s gaze rested on her for a moment, and then he continued to look at the wares for sale. “In you.”

  Beth’s cheeks burned.

  What a ridiculous thing to say! He probably only said it, she told herself firmly, to antagonize me. Throw her off balance. Well, she wasn’t going to allow herself to think anything of it, even if his words had warmed her heart. Just for a moment.

  After all, she was hardly likely to be welcomed home with open arms by Nancy. Not after what she had done…

  “You’re blushing.”

  “No I’m not!” Beth said hastily, raising a hand to her cheek.

  Bother it all, she was! Her hand came away, fingers warm from her embarrassment, and she tried not to think about the last time she had truly blushed. When Hugh Shardlow had pulled her into his arms and—

  No, she was not going to think about it, Beth reminded herself as they walked past a chicken coop absolutely rammed with chickens.

  Not going to think about the way the movement had felt so natural.

  Not going to think about the confidence of his hands on her waist.

  Not going to think about the searing heat which had branded her lips, making it impossible to imagine anyone else kissing her like that…

  “What on earth are you thinking about?”

  Beth halted in her steps and tried to speak calmly. “Nothing.”

  “It doesn’t look like nothing, it looks like something most pleasant,” said Hugh with a knowing look on his face. “If I were to guess—”

  “You would be wrong, and that is all we’ll say on the matter.”

  Oh, this man!

  “We should ask the people here at the market,” she continued, trying desperately to focus both his mind and hers on the task at hand. She was here to find Matthew, not flirt with brigands! “You take that side, I’ll go here. When you get to the church, wait for me there.”

  The tall spire was on the other side of the square and made an excellent meeting place.

  Which did not at all explain why Beth felt so entirely strange when Hugh grinned and said, “Fine. I’ll meet you at the church.”

  He strode away before Beth could say more. But then, what could she say? How could she explain why that phrase made her whole body tingle like…like when he had kissed her?

  It had been a moment of practicality, she tried to tell herself as she asked the lady selling milk whether she had seen a man about the place who was English. That was all. Hugh had been wise enough to spot those two horrible men—Beth shivered at the thought of what could have occurred—and he had a plan to distract them.

  True, there was almost certainly a better plan…

  Not that she could think of one at the moment.

  “No man like that at all?” she said despondently.

  The chandler shook his head. “I am sorry, mademoiselle, I wish I had better news. You search for your husband, I think?”

  Beth smiled as she shook her head. Everyone thought that. They could not understand how deeply the Mead siblings cared for each other. “No.”

  And then her gaze was caught by movement, a tall man with hair that became almost gold in the sun, and her cheeks blazed once more.

  The chandler, an older man with a wide-brimmed hat, glanced over his shoulder. He was wearing a most knowing smile as he turned back. “Ah. That man, I think, is your husband.”

  “Certainly n-not!” Beth spluttered. The very idea!

  The chandler winked. “Well, maybe he should be.”

  Beth continued walking along the market stalls rather than attempt to explain to the man just how wrong he was. The thought of her and Hugh married! It was ridiculous!

  Heady kisses notwithstanding…

  “Anything?” she asked as she approached Hugh standing nonchalantly outside the church.

  How did he do that? It wasn’t a manly thing; Matthew had never stood like that. It wasn’t a gentlemanly thing either. She had met a few gentlemen in her time, and seen far more on the streets of London, and yes, they had a certain confidence. But not like this.

  Despite being in a foreign land, wearing clothes purchased for him by a stranger, and with no money on him whatsoever, Beth could see Hugh believed the world was in some way owed to him.

  The arrogance!

  “No luck at all,” Hugh said with a shake of his head. “And I have to say, I do not believe a bribe would bring different answers. They have no need to fear us here.”

  Beth swallowed her disappointment and nodded.

  Yes, miles away from the battles as they were, it appeared French life was continuing much as normal. Rather like one of the small markets she had visited in London. Except for the language, it was almost the same.

  “Well, we shall just have to keep trying,” she said heartily. “Onto the next town.”

  “Onward,” Hugh said without hesitation, turning to take the road out.

  As Beth took her place beside him, their paces matching within a few steps, her curiosity swelled once more as he confidently took a right at a crossroads. How did an Englishman like Hugh Shardlow know so much about the French terrain?

  Oh, she’d had a broad idea from her schoolgirl days. Poor Miss Pickles, their governess, had worked hard to ensure her three charges had at least a passable knowledge of the major cities in France.

  But this was different. Hugh appeared to know all the little towns, even some of the villages. How long had he been in France? Four months? Six? What was the truth? Could such knowledge be gained in that time?

  “So tell me,” said Beth, suddenly unable to keep her questions to herself. “What brought you to France?”

  And because she was watching for it, she spotted it. The sudden tension in his shoulders, the way Hugh’s eyes became wary, the bob of his Adam’s apple.

  He did not want to tell her. Now why could that be?

  “Oh, you know,” he said vaguely, waving a hand as they strode along a hedgerow.

  Beth waited for the man to continue, but he did not. “No, I don’t know. That is why I asked you.”

  Yes, there was definitely something cagey about the way Hugh was looking about him—as though for an escape. But it did not make sense. A gentleman would only come to France at this time for one thing, and that was to join the war.

  But Hugh Shardlow, Beth was certain, had never worn a uniform.

  “You didn’t join the army then?” she asked innocently.

  Hugh shot her a look. “Why do you say that?”

  “Look, I just want to get to know you,” Beth said, which was true. In a way. “We will spend weeks searching for Matthew, the least you could do is tell me a little about you.”

  “You’ve heard all there is to know. All there is worth knowing,” said Hugh wryly. “I’m an English gentleman down on his luck in France, and I want to get home. That’s it.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes. The sunshine was starting to warm now, but the autumnal season was pulling golden leaves from the trees all around them. It was fortunate indeed that she had decided to come when she did. If she’d waited another few months, it would have been hard going indeed.

  “So, you didn’t join the army.”

  “Beth Mead, would you drop it?” Hugh said with a sigh.

  But Beth had never been one to simply give up because someone said so. That wasn’t how she’d gotten to France in search of her brother, and she wasn’t about to start giving up now. Besides, Hugh was hiding something—and she had a good idea what it could be.

  “I knew it,” she said quietly as they turned a corner.

  Hugh frowned. “What?”

  “You are a spy, aren’t you?” Beth said almost breathlessly. “For the English government. Here in France, I mean, and you were robbed or something, and that’s why you’re trying to get home!”

  It all made sense. In a way, she couldn’t see why she’d not spotted it before.

  Here he was, Hugh Shardlow—and he had hesitated when he had given his name, hadn’t he? Perhaps it was a false name. His cover name!

  Excitement rushed up her spine. Well, she could not have predicted that her sojourn in France would bring her into contact with such an intriguing man! A spy!