Elizabeth Powell by The Traitors Daughter

escort Miss Tremayne to Admiral Locke’s ball last week?”
    Miss Tremayne shot Everly a guarded glance.
    “I was, sir,” the lieutenant replied with undisguised hostility.
    “Indeed.” Everly ignored the young man’s belligerent stare, focusing instead on Miss Tremayne’s ashen countenance. Questions ricocheted through his mind. This youth was a newly minted officer; the white facings on his jacket showed not a smudge of smoke, tar, or gunpowder. Had Miss Tremayne recruited him into her little plot? Everly thought not. The youth’s misguided chivalry and outraged bluster suggested that he was too honest and forthright for spying.
    Which brought him back to his primary focus: what the devil was this chit doing in Locke’s study? She had every right to loathe Locke as much as she loathed Everlyhimself; he knew now why she had run away from him at the ball. Yet he had to consider that she might have a part in this treasonous conspiracy. His instincts told him she did not, but he wanted to hear the truth from her own lips. Her own very luscious, rosy, kissable lips.
    Everly shook himself. Miss Tremayne had lied to him, run from him, and nearly planted him a facer worthy of Gentleman Jackson. And now all he wanted to do was kiss her. Their collision in the garden must have addled his wits.
    A carriage drew up to the curb, to the lieutenant’s obvious relief. “If you will excuse us, Captain, I must see Miss Tremayne home.”
    “A moment,” Everly interjected. “Miss Tremayne and I have some unfinished business.”
    “I have nothing to say to you, Captain,” the lady said in clipped tones. She wrapped herself in her mousy brown cloak as if the drab garment provided protection against his presence.
    He smiled, and tried his best to make the gesture reach his eyes. “I would like to continue our discussion of the other evening. Admiral Lord St. Vincent is my patron, and has employed me on a matter of great importance. I believe you might be able to help me.”
    “Help you?” Her reply carried a wealth of disbelief. “Why should I help you, after what you’ve done to my family?”
    Everly leaned closer to her, an almost conspiratorial pose. “Because we both seem to want to know what is in Locke’s study.”
    She started. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “Very well,” she agreed.
    Everly wrenched his attention away from that lovely mouth. He straightened up and motioned to his own carriage, which had just pulled up ahead of the first. “I will be very happy to see Miss Tremayne home, Lieutenant. Surely you have other duties which require your attention.” This time he made sure his tone was that of a captain who expected his orders to be obeyed.
    The lieutenant hesitated.
    Miss Tremayne laid a reassuring hand on her companion’s arm. “It’s all right, Harry. I’m sure that Captain Everly will see that no harm comes to me. I will see you later.”
    “Are you certain of this, Amanda?” The lieutenant hovered by her side, glaring daggers at Everly.
    She gave a tiny nod. “I’ll be fine.”
    The younger man made a strangled sound of disagreement.
    “I would hate to make your departure an order, Lieutenant,” said Everly quietly.
    “Sir.” The lieutenant snapped to attention, sullenness exuding from every inch of his lanky form. He shot one last worried look at Miss Tremayne, then climbed into his own carriage.
    Everly watched him depart. How was that young officer involved in all of this? Such protectiveness was usually found in brothers, fathers—or lovers. A hot spurt of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy shot down Everly’s spine. He scowled. Why should he concern himself with Miss Tremayne’s amours? Bad enough that he could barely keep his eyes from her. Angry with himself, he set a tight clamp on his emotions and hoped it would endure at least for the duration of their conversation.
    He bowed stiffly and gestured to the open carriage door. “After you,