My Runaway Heart by Miriam Minger

teasing smile on his face as he approached her. She swallowed hard,
unable not to notice the expert cut of his waistcoat and how snugly it fit his
lean torso, his fawn-colored breeches as close-fitting and hugging his flanks
like a second skin, his black riding boots making little sound upon the
carpeted floor. Then he was standing in front of her, his fingers unfastening
the frogs of her cloak before she could think to do the task herself.
    "The stove in the corner offers little heat, but it's
not so cool that you need wear this any longer."
    Lindsay shivered as he slipped the hood from her hair,
his hands lightly skimming her face before they moved to push the cloak gently
off her shoulders. He was staring so deeply into her eyes that she had the
strangest sensation she was drowning, drowning in something deliciously warm and altogether inviting. Only with great effort was she
able to look away, almost giddy as she looked for anything to talk about.
    "Do . . . do you always carry a pistol? Of course,
as a spy, you must, I'm sure—and—and it was fortunate you had one with you
tonight at Offley's . Fortunate for me, I mean."
    "Yes, it was very fortunate. And yes" —he
reached up to run a callused fingertip slowly along her cheek— "I never go
anywhere without a weapon."
    The sudden hard glint in his eyes and the harsh timbre
of his voice did not go unnoticed. Lindsay was beset by a chill, not of fright,
but of vivid empathy. She could imagine the trials he must have endured while
in loyal service to the Crown, the trials he still must face. It made her yearn
to know that much more about him and she inclined her head, leaning into the
strong masculine hand that still cradled her face. But at the sudden knock on
the door he left her, Lindsay sinking dizzily from the stuffed arm into the
chair.
    "Your supper, luv —milord."
    She heard Della's throaty laugh, glanced over and saw
the buxom tavern keeper's wife give Jared a broad wink, but he said nothing as
he took the tray and kicked the door shut.
    "Jared . . . shouldn't we have thanked her?"
    "She's a woman more fond of coin than words," he said dryly, drawing a small three-legged table to
Lindsay's chair and setting down the tray. "I'll compensate her
tomorrow—but for now, let's see what she brought us."
    Lindsay's mouth was already watering at the savory
smells in the air. She gasped with delight when Jared drew aside a white linen
napkin.
    "Why, its Cornish pie, surely!" She watched
eagerly as he cut into the flaky brown pastry and offered her a generous
serving, the steamy filling of ham, leeks and thick
cream custard oozing out onto her plate. "Or a dish very
much like it. I haven't had anything that looks this good since I left Porthleven . Corie's housekeeper,
Frances, makes the most wonderful Cornish pie."
    "Obviously Sprigs does, too," came Jared's
amused comment as she popped a heaping forkful into her mouth, her mistake not
to blow upon it first. At once her eyes began to tear, since the food was so
warm. Lindsay threw a grateful look at Jared when he handed her a pewter goblet
filled with red wine, and she drank hurriedly.
    "Oh . . . oh, that's better." Chagrined with
herself, Lindsay returned the goblet to the tray with a sheepish smile. "I
guess I was hungrier than I thought. There was food at Almack's .
Stale cakes, actually. Not very appetizing even if I had felt like eating."
    "So things there haven't changed that much."
    Lindsay stared at Jared as he lifted his goblet and
drank deeply, his words surprising her. "You've been to Almack's ?"
    He nodded, a strange smile on
his face. "I haven't been graced with my notorious reputation forever.
There was a time when I was granted entrance through those hallowed doors—"
    "Oh, Jared, it would have been so wonderful if you
could have been there tonight," Lindsay blurted. "I watched for you
all evening—none of my partners danced even half as well as you. It isn't fair
at all that you should be excluded