The farmhouse was the sweetest sight Jenny had seen in two days. Smoke curled from the chimney, a gray snake coiling into the dark sky. Beckoning lantern light glowed through the front window, and the crisp smell of a wood fire promised a warm hearth within.

Her weary arms and legs were leaden, her body burned with fatigue. The way Andrew listed in the saddle confirmed that he, too, was exhausted. When Abel helped her dismount, every muscle cried in protest, stiffness thwarting her effort to walk. She shambled to the steps, each a challenge as she climbed to the porch.

Martin scooped her up as if she were a rag doll and carried her to the door. In answer to his knock, the door swung open and her heart leapt with joy as Mother rushed to embrace her.

“Jennifer.” Mother’s voice broke as tears streamed down her face. “My sweet child. I’ve been so worried.”

“Mother. You’re safe. Andrew is here.” She tried to peer over Martin’s shoulder, but it was like trying to see around a mountain.

“Yes. You both are here. Now we are all safe.”

Tears ran unchecked down Jenny’s cheeks. Andrew stood beside her, smiling, but his lids were heavy, and he swayed a bit. Abel propped him up.

Then Sarie and Isaac appeared. “Miss Jenny!” Sarie made no pretense; she bawled like a newborn. Isaac’s grin beamed white teeth against his ebony skin. “We got food for you. Come in and set down.”

Martin placed her on a chair at the kitchen table. Andrew plopped beside her. Mother set bowls of steaming soup before them. Isaac delivered two pewter tankards, cool with freshly pressed cider, and Andrew patted his shoulder in thanks. Sarie sliced a loaf of warm rye bread and slathered two pieces with creamy butter. Jenny inhaled the yeasty aroma, watching the steam rise.

Mother hugged Martin and Abel. “Thank you both from the bottom of my heart.” She sniffed into her handkerchief.

The farmer’s wife stepped forward, gesturing to the brothers. “Please, have some soup and ale. You must be starving.”

“No, thank you, ma’am. We have three lobsterbacks to deliver to an encampment of Continentals just north of here. With the shape the lieutenant is in, we’d best hurry.”

“Take our wagon to transport the wounded man, else he may die in your hands.”

“Thank you kindly. That would be a help. We’ll return it on our way back through.” Martin patted Andrew’s shoulder. “Never met a more courageous young man.” He looked at Jenny. “Or young woman.” He winked.

Jenny swayed when she tried to stand. He eased her back down. “You just git some victuals in ya’, missy.” She pulled his lapel and he leaned forward. She kissed his cheek. Abel hurried to her, leaning in. Laughing, she kissed him, too.

Martin cleared his throat. “Well then. We’ll be on our way.”

The farmer led them out, closing the door behind them.

Jenny sat back and sighed after finishing the soup, two slabs of bread, and a mug of ale. She caught Andrew’s gaze, and, in the candlelight, desire reflected in his eyes. A warm tickle started in her belly and spread through her body. She smiled, and given the way he shifted in his chair, her dimple had not lost its effect.

Andrew lay in the stillness of the night. He had recovered remarkably after, what seemed to him, a feast. Though exhaustion drained every ounce of his energy, he could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the idea of Ashby assaulting Jenny invaded his thoughts. She had defied Ashby and his threats, never showing fear. Even the risk she’d taken to help him flee from the gaol showed more bravery than most men had.

God, how he loved her. How he longed to wrap her in his arms, protect her, make love to her.

The candle flame fluttered as the door opened, and Jenny stood there, her gaze alight with passion. Her linen shift draped her figure, highlighting delicious swells over her breasts and hips. She pressed her finger to her lips. “Shhh.” Then she smiled tantalizingly, and he thought he would perish in a swirl of pleasure and pain.

She padded over the wood floor, sauntering to his bed. Holding his gaze, she loosened the strings of her shift, bringing the neckline to her shoulders. Heat spread through him like a forest on fire. She smiled as movement beneath the blanket revealed his desire when she pulled one side of her shift from her shoulder, exposing the swell of her breast.

“Oh, Jenny,” he breathed. They had spent many nights snuggled in front of the hearth at Brentwood Manor, but they had always been clothed. They had explored each other’s bodies, but through layers of linen, cotton, or brocade. He had never seen Jenny completely naked.

With a graze of her finger, she brushed the fabric from her other shoulder, and her shift dropped to the floor. As did Andrew’s heart. Candlelight flickered off her alabaster skin. Her rosy nipples were taut with her longing. He reached out, running his hand along her thigh.

She trembled.

Lifting the blanket, she nestled beside him. “You seem to be overdressed, sir.” She tugged his shirt and pulled it up.

He scrambled out of it, tossing it on the floor. Wrapping her in his arms, he was amazed at how each of her curves fit neatly against his body. She raised her face to his, and he captured her lips, moving, exploring, delving into her sweetness. She moaned, deep in her throat. He thought he would explode.

Her silky skin urged his touch. She writhed as his hands explored her body. Every movement, every sound, proclaimed her delight in his exploration. His earlier exhaustion gave way to renewed energy, emboldened by her response, her touch.

She slid beneath him, pulling him atop her. Wrapping her arms and legs around him, she smiled, her dimple destroying any resistance he might have entertained. He joined their bodies, her breath hot on his neck as they soared to the explosion of pleasure and release.

Jenny heard the rooster out in the yard. Andrew slept curled around her, their legs intertwined. How she wanted to remain, warm and sated, in his arms. But the family had probably already arisen to begin work on the farm. Her escape back to the room she was sharing with Mother would be precarious.

Slowly easing from Andrew’s embrace, she tried to slip out of the bed. His arms encircled her, drawing her back in, scooping her beside him.

“Andrew, I must return to my room,” she whispered.

“Stay, love.” His sleep-filled voice was husky, breaking down her resistance.

“Mother will awaken soon. She’ll see I’m gone.”

“Mmm hmm.” He traced lazy circles on her stomach.

“I must leave you now.”

“Never leave me again, Jenny.” His hand moved to her breast. Desire flamed, heat spread through her body. He moved against her.

“Andrew…”

She remained.

Mother was already in the kitchen helping to prepare breakfast. She raised a brow at Jenny when she entered, but a half smile played at her lips.

“I’m pleased to see you slept in, Jennifer. You needed the extra rest.” She exchanged glances with Sarie, who turned to busy herself at the hearth. But not before Jenny saw her grin. “Be of some use, daughter. Set the table.”

Jenny busied herself with the task, snatching glances at the stairs. As she passed, Mother pulled her in, planting a kiss on her forehead. She held her close for a moment, kissed her again, then released her. “Get that table set. Breakfast is ready.” She brushed away a tear.

Andrew appeared, shrugging into his coat. “Good day, Mrs. Sutton. Sarie.” His voice softened. “Jenny.”

Mother strode between them, hefting a pot of porridge onto the table. “Good morning, Andrew. You must be starving.” She glanced at Jenny.

“I am indeed.” He winked at Jenny and sat down.

“No wonder,” Mother mumbled. She patted his shoulder.

He winked again as he took his place beside Jenny.

A commotion broke out on the porch. She went weak with fear. Mother ran to her as Andrew knocked over the chair, lunging for the rifle propped beside the door. It was as if time stood still. Had the British found them? Would they face the gallows after all?

The door burst open, and Andrew aimed the gun at the head of the intruder.

“Is this any kind of welcome for your brother-in-law?” Jonathon Brentwood’s voice boomed.

“Uncle Jonathon!” Jenny jumped up and ran into his arms.

Andrew set the gun down and clapped him on the back.

“Rumors abound about the two of you taking out a troop of British soldiers.” His eyes sparkled, his grin spread over his face.

“You’ve been talking to the Wirth brothers.” Andrew handed him a mug of cider.

“Indeed, I have. They speak of the two of you in glowing terms. Something about taking out four soldiers with only two guns. They bandied about terms like ‘courage’ and ‘bravery’ and ‘unstoppable.’ Sounded like a bit of hyperbole to me.” He laughed.

Mr. Gates entered with two other crewmen. Mother bustled about filling pewter mugs while Sarie dished up more porridge.

“Good day, everyone.” Gates removed his wool cap. “So good to see you again safe and well, Miss Sutton.”

Jenny rose and took his hand. “Welcome, Mr. Gates. I’m so pleased to see you again. But I thought you wished to avoid landing in New York, Uncle Jonathon.”

He frowned. “So I did. But we encountered a British frigate that engaged us. Let’s just say, she limped off with the worst of it.” He sighed. “But the Destiny took some serious damage. She is in a nearby port for repairs.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ve already purchased another ship that will safely return us home.” He placed his hands on Constance and Sarie’s shoulders. “We hope you will join us. I think you’ll find Virginia winters more forgiving than New York’s or Boston’s.”

“Perhaps the winters are more forgiving, but I fear some people are not. Sarie and Isaac will be safer in Boston.”

“But, Mother—”

“We will be safe there now. The British no longer occupy Boston. And it is my home.” Her eyes glistened. “But your home is in Virginia.” She stroked Andrew’s hair. “Thank you for saving my daughter’s life.”

“I believe it was mutual salvation.” Andrew grinned at her.

Jenny laughed and squeezed Andrew’s hand.

Lively talk and gentle teasing ensued while all ate their fill. Jenny and Andrew recounted their journey, and Mother filled in with hers. Jenny relished the laughter, the safety, the love that filled the room. Beneath the table, she sought out Andrew’s hand.

Jonathon detailed the plan to get them out of New York and back to Williamsburg. He had seen Lieutenant Ashby while at the encampment where he’d met the Wirth brothers. Ashby was still alive, though barely, but enough to know that it was Jenny who had stabbed him. Should he recover, she and Andrew would have a formidable enemy out there.

As they finished their breakfast, Jonathon finalized the plans, urging them to be ready to leave at dusk. Traveling at night would be safer.

Jenny looked around the table at the people whom she had saved, and the people who had saved her. She took a deep breath and counted her blessings.

Andrew ran along the wharf, dodging porters carrying barrels, jumping over crates stationed on the dock before being loaded onto ships, skirting sailors mending sails and rigging. He shouted, “Excuse me,” and “Pardon me, sir,” as he sprinted to the end of the wharf where the ship was ready to sail.

Jenny stood at the brass railing watching, laughter bubbling up at his exasperating progress. Her heart was full to bursting as he dashed up the plank then hastened along the deck to join her. Reaching her, he embraced her like a man holding a lifeline.

“Just in time, Andrew. How do the two of you like my new ship?” Jonathon asked as he approached.

“She’s beautiful.” Jenny scanned the trimmed sails, the neatly coiled ropes, the glistening brass fixtures, and the polished mahogany.

“I named her for you, you know.” He smiled down at her. “She’s called the Courage. She’s a proud ship, an intrepid ship, and a salvation to me while the Destiny is being repaired.”

“Captain, we are ready to depart,” Mr. Gates called over.

“I will leave you two to entertain yourselves as I set sail.” Jonathon bowed.

Jenny looked up at Andrew. “You ran fast enough.”

“So did you.” He kissed her.

“Yes, I finally did.”

They stood at the rail, their arms encircling each other, and sailed out of port toward the life they’d dreamed of so long ago.