My Lord Rogue by Katherine Bone

squadron in order to spare England the horrific loss. A selfless sacrifice on her part ? Or an act of desperation. She was in danger. Surely that more than made up for her lapse in good judgment.
    I’ve committed the ultimate sin where Simon is concerned.
    A chill overtook her. She pulled the hood of her cloak higher, making sure the rough border dipped low enough to conceal the upper half of her face. Napoleon’s men were still out there somewhere . Where could she go now that they wouldn’t find her ? If she didn’t stay with Simon, didn’t agree to become an intricate part of Nelson’s Tea, continuing to serve England with the skills Lucien had taught her, what then? She had wealth, a title, but that was inconsequential when any spy worth his salt could track her down. Or could they? Lucien had never used the name Chauncey in his dealings with the French. Perhaps she could flee London without fear of being hunted down like a creature of the wood.
    A fox outmaneuvered the hunter. Who better to lead a merry chase than a woman trying to save her own arse? Inhaling deeply , Gillian made up her mind. S he would leave early in the morning. H ire servants to transport her to Bath or Brighton, someplace far from London, from Surrey, where she’d be free to live without looking over her shoulder. Odds were she’d have no trouble adjusting in a place people strove to go by the hundreds to luxuriate and forget.
    And oh , how she wanted to forget the man who made her heart beat with ruthless abandon.
    S obered, Gillian left Shepherds Market and hastened toward Piccadilly, leaving White Horse Street behind. Two men shuffled past. Their laughter and French banter set her heart racing . Alarmed, she gasped and, panting in terror, put a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. Were these men the very same ones from box four?
    “You are free… for now , ” came their haunting reminder.
    Planting herself against a wall, s he waited breathlessly until their footsteps faded into the distance. Then, after several more agonizing seconds, Gillian moved, speeding past Half Moon and Clarges Street s before arrowing up Bolton toward the townhouse stoop of Number Eleven . Trembling and fearful , s he looked over her shoulders, left then right, and raised her knuckle s to knock on the engraved wood, mimicking the rhythm — Tap - tap . Tap - tap . Tap . Tap . Tap - tap . — Goodayle had instructed her to use on her return.
    Silence.
    Tap - tap . Tap.
    T he door opened. Goodayle nodded, extend ing his hand to wave her in, and then peered out the door slyly before shutting it behind her. “Did you find what you were looking for, baroness ?”
    “Yes,” she said, trying to calm her racing pulse . She removed her hood and black gloves , handed them to Goodayle, and then turned so he could help her with the black woolen cloak she used for outings such as this. “ Please ensure that my belongings are ready by morning.”
    Goodayle cocked his brow. “ Have you told Lord Danbury your decision, my lady ?”
    Servants didn’t question their betters, but Gillian didn’t censure Goodayle. This one wasn’t a servant, not in the real sense. She could smell it. Her trained eye told her, he was the master’s right hand man . His speech patterns, the obedient way he served Simon, the glimmer in his eyes that bespoke he’d follow Simon to hell and back , indicated Goodayle had known Simon since his days in the navy . No tar paulin , he. But Simon ’s equal in intelligence and breeding. She had no idea why the man had chosen to pose as a butler, but understood the need to continue the farce. If Lucien had taught her anything at all, it was recognizing sacrifices made for the cause. And Goodayle, whatever his real name was, exemplified the dedication, devotion, and determined air of a gentle man shirking all but duty, honor — country.
    “I gave my word that I would give Lord Danbury my decision tomorrow,” she said as Goodayle removed her cloak.