Andrew stared at the leaves dancing in the tree outside his window. Birdsong filled the air, but nature’s beauty could not assuage the despair that held him. For a week, he had grappled with the knowledge that Jenny was engaged to a British officer. How could that be? Were her sympathies swayed in so short a time? Could her heart be stolen from him in the time it had taken him to reach Manhattan? But what of their brief times together since his arrival? His head ached with confusion.

“Jenny.” Her name escaped his lips in a moan as he dropped his head back on the pillow, his eyelids heavy. He remembered the joy on her face the night they reunited on the road in front of her house. Had she already fallen in love with Ashby then? Were her kisses and declarations of love all lies?

But he could tell when she was lying. How she blushed—even in the darkness he had sensed her face redden. He thought it was passion, passion for him. Perhaps it was because she was caught unaware. And she bit her lip when she lied. He snorted. She’d had no time to bite her lip as he was covering them with kisses. Kisses she’d returned with equal passion.

And her mission was to Laurence Montclair’s to deliver intelligence within the Patriot spy network. It didn’t make sense. Why was she working with Montclair if she was in love with a British officer? Unless … was she passing information on to Ashby?

His stomach twisted at the thought. Not his Jenny. She would never … why, she had ridden beside him to save Jonathon’s life. She risked her own life to draw British soldiers away from Brentwood Manor when they were about to kill him.

Not his Jenny.

He smiled, hopeful. Then he remembered Ashby’s voice.

You are to be my wife. If your reputation is sullied, it is no matter, since you will not have to present yourself for marriage to anyone else.

He had ridden for weeks to arrive in New York and keep Jenny safe. He had dreamed of her every night, his mind filled with her every day. She was his love. His life. And now she belonged to another. He threw his arm over his eyes to block the thought of a life without her, a thought that drained his will to live.

If Jenny was this fickle, he never knew her at all. But without her, life made little sense. He shifted to his side. Wallowing like this would help nothing. He was surrounded by the belongings of a man who gave his life for liberty. Andrew would do the same.

Outside a troop of soldiers marched past the apothecary shop. The captain boomed commands. “Company, halt. Present arms.”

Metal clattered as they shifted their guns.

Was Ashby there? Just below his window? A viable target? He had killed men before—could he kill again?

The troop moved on and the street returned to its usual bustle.

He tried to sit up, but the movement stretched the scabs forming on his wounds, his arms wobbled beneath him. Damn! He had to build his strength. His only goal now was to fight the British … fight them to his death.

With Ashby finding any excuse to stop by the house, Jenny had been unable to visit Andrew until today—almost two weeks since the Wirth brothers had moved him. Not being able to tend to him and know how he was feeling had been agonizing. So had worrying about his reaction to her engagement.

As she climbed the stairs, her heart quickened. What state would she find him in? Upon entering his room, she stopped, and her hand flew to her mouth. The last time she’d seen him he lay helplessly in bed, unable even to feed himself. Now, he was sitting in a chair, reading a book. His face brightened at the sight of her, then the light disappeared from his face.

“Andrew. You look so well.” She wanted to jump up and down with the joy of seeing him so hale. She rushed to him, taking his hand in hers. She bent to kiss his lips, but he turned his head. “I need to explain something.”

He stared out the window.

“Andrew, please look at me.”

“When were you going to tell me of your engagement?” He glared at her.

“No, Andrew—”

“Apparently while I was riding as quickly as I could to find you, keep you safe in this God-forsaken city, you were cozying up to another. And a lobsterback at that.” His voice rose in fury. “How could you do this? How could you throw away our love, our fight against the British? Everything we believe in?” He threw the book to the floor, his body quaking with rage. And did she see fear through his angry tears?

“Andrew, please let me—” She knelt beside his chair.

“Is everything all right? Andrew, are you in pain?” Lucy’s high-pitched voice preceded her into the room. She skidded to a halt, panting, as she flew through the door. “Oh, excuse me.” She nodded to them then backed out closing the door behind her.

How inappropriate for the two of us to be secluded away behind the closed door of a bedroom. Jenny shook her head at the sudden incongruent thought. If Ashby knew she was here …

The pain in Andrew’s face tore at her heart. He frowned and turned his head to stare out the window again.

A clang sounded from below.

Andrew looked down at her. “You should leave.”

“Yes, she should.” Nigel Ashby’s voice was soft.

Jenny leapt to her feet.

Rising, Andrew searched for his pistol, but he staggered and reached for the back of the chair.

Ashby stood at the door, ramrod straight. His nostrils flared as he strode to her, wrenched her arm, and pulled her to his chest. Though his face was a thundercloud, his eyes were filled with sadness. “I’ve tried to warn you, but you seem hell-bent on throwing away your life.” He glared at Andrew, then at her. “So, your heart has been spoken for. Never mind. Once he is gone, your heart will be free to love me.”

“I will never love you.” Jenny yanked her arm away.

Andrew’s face was dark with rage, his jaw set like stone. He stumbled as he stepped toward him.

“Still weak? Well, I have just the place for you to gain your strength before you hang. Andrew Wentworth, you are under arrest for treason to King George III.”

“No!” Her scream was primal, ripped from her gut. She blocked his path to Andrew.

He pushed past Jenny and stalked to the chair. Seizing Andrew’s arm, he hauled him toward the door.

Andrew groaned, his teeth clenched against the pain.

“No,” Jenny cried again. “I will marry you. I will do whatever you want. Just, please, let Andrew go.”

Ashby scoffed into her face. “Don’t whimper. It doesn’t befit you. You will marry me and do whatever I want whether I arrest him or kill him on the spot.”

He jerked Andrew around and half-carried him to the door. He turned back to her.

“Our banns are posted, remember, my dear? You are already mine.”