For Her Spy Only (Entangled Scandalous) by Robyn DeHart

Prologue
    24 th of December 1808, near the coastline of Sussex
    MissWinifred Wilmington pulled her green velvet cloak tighter around her. She exhaled and the puff of air was visible, so cold was it inside the carriage.
    “We are going to die in here,” her maid, Polly, wailed.
    Winifred rolled her eyes heavenward. “I seriously doubt that,” she said. “It is rather cold, but I suspect someone will be along soon enough and rescue us.”
    “I could remind you that it was my suggestion that we leave earlier in the day. Or yesterday,” Polly grumbled. “It is the eve of Christmas, who else is traveling?”
    The thought had crossed Winifred’s mind as well, but she certainly wouldn’t put voice to it. “Holmes went to search for help. Certainly he will find someone to assist us.”
    There was no need to panic, as that would solve nothing. Therein lie the significant difference between herself and her longtime maid. Winifred was nothing if not practical. It was a skill she had learned out of necessity. One did not get jilted at the altar without adjusting one’s expectations of life and other people. In any case, she was somewhat concerned about being stranded in this frigid carriage all night, though she was hopeful that someone would come along to save them.
    Polly sat up. “Do you hear that?”
    Polly was so apt at creating drama, no doubt the woman thought she heard wolves outside. “What?” Winifred asked.
    “A carriage is coming,” Polly said.
    Winifred strained her ears, and certainly enough it did sound as if wheels were drawing nearer. Hope bloomed in her chest. The wheels rumbled and the horse hooves clattered louder and louder until they were upon them before they rolled to a stop.
    “As long as it’s not a highwayman, I suppose we can consider ourselves rescued,” Winifred said.
    Polly gasped, her hand going to her throat. “A highwayman!”
    A male voice sounded outside the carriage, obviously speaking with his party unless Holmes had found this particular someone to salvage them.
    There came a rap at the door. Winifred leaned forward and opened it.
    A tall gentleman stood there in a great coat with a top hat perched upon his head. He held a cane in his hand. “Madams,” he said, the timber in his voice deep and rich.
    A chill skirted over Winifred’s arms despite the cloak encasing her body. “Good evening, sir,” she said. “I hope my driver, Holmes, didn’t get you out of bed to rescue us.”
    “I beg your pardon, I know no such man. I came upon your rig by happenstance.”
    “Well, then, I should thank you for stopping to assist us. Can our carriage be repaired?”
    “I do not know, nor am I inclined to look,” he said.
    That wasn’t very gentlemanly of him. She opened her mouth to tell him precisely that—
    “I will offer you a ride,” he said before she could comment.
    Winifred considered his words. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would do. “Yes, my grandmother’s estate is not far from here. We would very much appreciate it.”
    “No,” he said.
    She started to thank him for his hospitality and then his words sank in. “I beg your pardon? Did you or did you not offer us a ride?”
    “To where I am going. I am not a coach for hire.” He tapped his cane against his chest.
    She had the childlike urge to mock him, but thought better of it. Her options for getting out of this predicament were rather limited, so she best mind her manners.
    “In the morning, you may have the carriage take you to your destination,” he continued. “But in this weather, I am going nowhere else.”
    “And where is it that you’re going?” Winifred asked.
    “Coventry Hall,” he said.
    Nerves prickled at her neck, standing the little hairs on end. “You are?” Winifred asked.
    “Alistair Devlin, Marquess of Coventry,” he said with only a shadow of a bow.
    “Oh good heavens,” Polly said, finally breaking her silence. She shook her head violently. “Miss Wilmington, we