The August night shrouded Jenny with a dark, sultry coolness. Her heart slammed in her chest as she led the mare through the yard and into the road. Here she was, living another lie, pretending to be something she was not. How could this end well?

Just a few lanterns lit the street. Since most of them flickered near the front doors of the houses lining the road, she led the horse to its center where shadows held the rutted ground in darkness.

She tucked a lock of hair up under the slouch hat Sarie had given her and tugged its sloping brim down over her brow. Isaac’s trousers fit her waist but were snug about her hips and too short to stay tucked into her boots. Father’s jacket drooped at the shoulders and was folded twice at the cuffs. Anyone seeing her would think she was a servant running an errand.

Perspiration ran in rivulets along her neck and dampened her shift as she walked the horse toward the busier road a quarter-mile ahead where she would mount and hurry to the apothecary shop. The sound of a racing horse’s hooves along this quiet street at night might draw curious observers to the windows, and if she were discovered ... Her trial for treason would be brief, the hanging briefer.

Well, then I must not be discovered.

“Come along,” she quietly urged Aggie, the mare that had been comfortably settled for the night and was not inclined to travel now. “Gee up,” she whispered, pulling on the bridle.

A hand clamped her mouth, an arm encircled her waist, lifting her off the ground. In panic, her feet kicked out, and she swung her arms trying to escape. She didn’t scream. That would mean discovery. She at least had enough wits about her to realize that. She fought her attacker the best she could.

“Jenny. Jenny, it’s me. Andrew,” a familiar voice whispered.

Her limbs went weak as she slumped against him.

He released her and stepped back.

“Andrew,” she cried. Turning, she leapt into his arms. Her pants allowed her to wrap her legs around him, and he laughed aloud. She silenced him with a kiss fierce with desire, and he answered in kind. Their lips were desperate to taste; their tongues danced a passion of joyful reunion.

Then she pulled back, studying the face she had seen every night in her dreams. But his face had changed. His soft features had more of an edge, his cheeks ruddy, his jawline firmer. His azure eyes glowed softly but held a seriousness that had never been evident before. His smile didn’t come instantly as usual, but as she beheld him, slowly, his lips broke into a broad grin. When a strand of his tawny hair blew gently in the night breeze, she reached up to brush it back. Hot tears burned her cheeks as laughter bubbled up. “Andrew.” Her face grew warm, her smile her widest ever.

With her legs still wrapped around him, she felt his desire, and she moaned. She slid down, standing before him. Andrew bent his head to hers, his lips brushing hers softly, then with an urgency that matched her own. His tongue probed her mouth, and she gave in to the request, deepening the kiss, clinging to him. Finally, she pulled back.

“It’s not safe for you here,” she whispered.

“Nor for you.” He pulled her into the shadow of a tree. Aggie moseyed behind them.

“I saw you today … at the apoth—”

He stifled her words with an impatient kiss. Then he held her, cradling her head against his chest, his heart wild, matching the beating of her own.

“Where are you going? Why are you dressed like this?”

His voice was music.

She quickly told him about her involvement with Laurence Montclair.

“Montclair told me that you had agreed to work with the Sons.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “But you must not. It’s too risky.”

“My father was part of the group.”

“I heard he died. I’m so sorry.”

She took a deep breath. Would the pain of losing Father ever go away? “But I arrived in time to be with him for a short while.” She explained his run-in with the Ranger, the resulting wound, and the amputation. “Mother explained about the Patriot group working for General Washington. Before he died, Father insisted she do so. Our house has been a drop-off site for information. A courier arrived this evening with a message, which Mother decoded. She said it’s urgent. Since she may be under suspicion, I must deliver this message to Montclair immediately.”

“Your house is being watched.” He related what he’d heard from the British officers. “You were with one of them this afternoon.”

Jenny nodded. “Ashby.”

“Yes, that’s what the older man called him.”

Andrew peered down the street where the two British officers had walked—where she was headed. “Had you come outside a few minutes earlier, they would have met you in front of the house.”

Jenny stared into the darkness that led to the main street. She chewed her lip, her mind churning with fear, but then the image of Father’s agonized face floated before her, enraging her. Inhaling deeply, she reached inside for strength. Determination obliterated her fear.

“I must go. Mother depends on me to deliver this to Mr. Montclair tonight.”

“I’ll take it. You return to the house.”

Jenny looked up at him, giving him a half-smile. “We’ll go together, just as we did when we rescued Jonathon.”

Andrew kissed her. Right on her dimpled cheek.

His knees buckled at Jenny’s smile. That damned dimple reduced him to schoolboy flutterings … and desire. He kissed her cheek, then moved to her lips, tasting her sweetness. He wanted to stay there forever, but Jenny pushed him away, laughing softly. How he delighted in the lilt of her voice.

“We must go. Now.” She pulled on his hand.

At the end of the quiet road, they searched in both directions. To their left, one lone carriage trundled along in the opposite direction. He helped Jenny mount the horse and flushed hot when she threw her leg over the horse, straddling it as a man would. Taking a deep breath, he swung up behind her. Not wanting to draw attention, he nudged the mare to an inconspicuous trot.

The cool air rushing over his face helped to temper his rising desire. If only he could detour into a grassy field and lie beside her, hold her and let her know the depth of his love. He shook his head. He needed to keep his wits about him. He needed to protect Jenny.

He studied the road and scanned the side streets they passed, looking for any sign of Lieutenant Ashby and his superior. Nothing. They neared Fraunces Tavern where raucous laughter and fiddle music spilled out the front door into the night air. Andrew urged Aggie to the other side of the road as they passed in front of the pub. Most likely, at this hour, patrons would be tipsy and in good spirits, but he did not want to chance that either of them might be recognized.

They continued, avoiding any sign of people about. Finally, they reached the apothecary shop and rode into the backyard. He dismounted and reached up to help Jenny alight. As she leaned forward, her jet-black hair tumbled from beneath the hat, cascading over his upturned face.

“Ohhh …” He fought the passion stirring within. “How you tempt me.”

Smiling, she pulled back her hair and tucked it up beneath the hat. “Temper your lustful desires, Mr. Wentworth. We must see our task through.”

He reached up for her again. Just touching her was like being bucked off a wild stallion. Not that he had ever experienced that, but he imagined it was the same. Perhaps her effect was even more intense.

One candle glowed through the window of Montclair’s office. They climbed the steps to the back door and Jenny rapped lightly. No movement came from within. She rapped harder.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

The click confirmed that a flintlock was pointed at his head. Raising his hands, he stepped in front of Jenny as he turned.

“Good God, Wentworth. What are you doing stealing about at this time of night? And who is that young buck with you?” Laurence Montclair released the half-cocked gun as he lowered his arm. “Come in. Come in.” He opened the door and ushered them in. Once inside, Montclair poked his head back out the door to check the yard. Closing the door, he bolted it, went into his office and closed the shutters, dropping the clasp to lock them. Then he motioned them into his office.

“Guarding the Sutton house again, eh, son? You’re a randy young gentleman with a mind full of that beauty …”

Jenny stepped into the glow of the candle on his desk. Montclair’s expression shifted like moonlight on a lake, from perturbed to confused to amazed.

“Miss Sutton. Excuse me … I didn’t mean to use such vulgarity in front of a young lady.” He took in her clothing, quickly glancing away from the trousers.

Jenny laughed. “Please do not concern yourself, Mr. Montclair.” She stepped forward. “Mother received this missive this evening. She thought it imperative you see it immediately.”

Montclair took the letter and held it near the candle.

“Damn. Hewlett is aware of the planned attack.” He glanced at their faces and waved the parchment. “General Samuel Parsons is planning to lead Continental troops in an attack on the British holed up in Setauket. Lieutenant Colonel Richard Hewlett is on to him. He’ll have his British troops ready and waiting for the Continentals. How in hell did they find out?” He rubbed his eyes. “Andrew, you will need to travel to Setauket at first light.”

“But, Mr. Montclair, I’ve only just …” He looked at Jenny.

“Confound it, Wentworth. You and Miss Sutton must not be seen together. If Mrs. Sutton is under suspicion, they will be watching Miss Sutton as well. If she is seen with you, it will confirm her involvement. You are to stay away from her. If you love her, keep her safe—safely away from you.”

How in God’s creation could they be parted again? Andrew slammed his fist onto the desk. “I must protect her.”

“You will have her hanged? That’s how you’ll protect her?” Montclair’s voice was hoarse with restraint. He leaned across the desk, glaring at Andrew as the clock on the wall ticked off minutes.

All the joy of finding Jenny drained from Andrew, sapping his energy. His exhaustion from a weeks-long journey overtook him as he sank into a chair. Resting his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands. It was all he could do not to break down and cry like a lad.

Jenny rubbed his shoulder. She stooped beside him, taking his face in her hands, her soft skin against his cheek like a balm, restoring him. He gazed into her eyes, gentle and smiling in the candle’s glow.

“We will be together soon, Andrew. For over a year, liberty is what you and Jonathon have been fighting for. Liberty is what my father died for. Our sacrifice is not too great.” She stroked his cheek.

He took her hands in his, kissing her palms, and nodded. Looking up at Montclair, he nodded again. “Yes, I’ll go. Give me my instructions.”

The breeze had picked up while they were in the apothecary shop. Jenny cherished Andrew’s embrace, for it could be their last. She held him close, her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Please, God. Keep him safe. He kissed the top of her head then stepped back.

“I must leave, Jenny.” His hoarse voice mirrored her sorrow.

“Yes. But we will be together again, I know—”

He swept her into his arms, his kiss desperate, ravenous. She met his lips with a passion that burned, taking his lips, hungrily. When at last they parted, hollowness replaced the passion. Her hand slipped away from his, and she turned and mounted the horse. She committed to memory every detail as she looked down at him. His face, turned up to her, smiling gently. His shoulders, strong and broad. The detail that haunted her as she rode away was the grief in his eyes.

She reined Aggie to a walk. The horse nickered her approval. This pace would give Jenny time to regain her composure before arriving home. Leaves rustling in the trees above her covered the sound of the horse’s clomp, clomp on the cobblestones. She neared Fraunces Tavern. While lantern light still glowed in the windows, the noise had settled considerably. She decided to ride by on the road.

As she passed, the door flung open and three men staggered out.

“You there. Boy.”

A fourth man rode out from beside the tavern, blocking the road.

Keeping her head down, she pulled the mare to a halt. Perspiration prickled against her skin.

The shortest man stood on the top step, almost tripping as he descended. “I’m talkin’ to you, boy.” He approached her. She tugged at the reins, but the man on the horse moved in to block her again.

“Evenin’, sir. I’m just headin’ home.” She deepened her voice, hoping to convince them she was a young man. She touched the brim of her hat and tugged the reins to direct the horse around the man obstructing her.

“We’ll shee wha … where yer goin,” the short man slurred as he squinted at her. He seized Jenny’s leg.

She jerked back on the reins and the horse bucked. The man held tightly to her, yanking her off the horse. As she tumbled, her hat fell off, spilling her jet-black hair across her shoulders.