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She halted but did not immediately turn. “Yes, Major?”

His voice had lost its teasing warmth. “I do hope you know what you are doing.”

Judith stood still. So he had seen something, but whether he had witnessed enough to damn her remained impossible to tell.

She looked back at him. The smile had returned, though it did not reach his eyes.

For the first time all day, Judith saw plainly the man concealed beneath the charm. He was not the amusing guest who baited her over ugly caps, nor the officer who sent narcissus to harried women. He was Colonel Renforth’s man, sent north because private information had somehow escaped from houses such as Blackthorn into hands where it did not belong.

Judith lifted her chin. “I generally do, Major.” Then she went inside without waiting for his reply.

Only after she had climbed the stairs and closed the door of her bedchamber behind her did she allow herself to breathe properly. The note was gone, which was something.

Whether it would reach Newcastle was another matter, and the question of whether Major Baines had seen enough to connect her with the information escaping Blackthorn was more troubling still.

Judith crossed to the looking-glass and stared at herself. Her expression remained composed, though colour stood high in her cheeks and her pulse had not yet settled. She pulled off the hideous cap and tossed it onto the dressing table.

This was precisely why she abhorred charming men. One never knew when the flirtation was ended and the pursuit had begun.

What troubled her most, however, was not the possibility that Major Baines might discover her secret. It was that, despite knowing exactly what sort of danger he represented, Judith still wanted to see him smile at her again.

CHAPTER 5

Baines had spent enough years in Intelligence to know that a man generally made his first mistake immediately after believing he had understood a situation. Therefore, when he awoke the morning after seeing Judith Finch pass a folded note to one of the grooms, he refused to congratulate himself upon having caught her.

He had seen an exchange, nothing more, and a letter did not make a traitor merely because it had been passed after dark. If it did, half London would have to be transported. Yet the matter troubled him, not because he had ever supposed Miss Finch incapable of keeping secrets, for he had already formed quite the opposite opinion, but because there had been something altogether too practised in the manner of it. The groom had accepted the note without surprise, and neither had behaved as though anything unusual had occurred.

Seated now at the breakfast table, with a cup of coffee cooling beside his plate, Baines watched Judith from beneath lowered lids while Sir Lionel complained about the condition of the North Road. She was wearing the cap again, that hideous construction of muslin, and Baines had begun to suspect she now wore it deliberately, to punish him for having noticed it.

Nothing in her manner betrayed the least uneasiness. There was no guilty glance in his direction, no nervous occupation of her hands, nor any indication that she had spent so much as five minutes wondering whether he had seen too much in the stable yard. Instead, she spoke to Lady Dunsmore about a missing shawl, reminded Edward that a tradesman from Alnwick would arrive after noon, and instructed Simmons to send a breakfast tray to Lady Beckenham, who had claimed a headache and declined to come down. Either Miss Finch possessed a perfectly clear conscience or a degree of self-command that would have done credit to Renforth himself. Baines had already learned not to underestimate her, and considered it entirely possible that she possessed both.

“Baines,” said Sir Lionel, claiming his attention.

He looked up. “Yes, sir?”

“You have not heard a word I said.”

“You were speaking about rain, sir.”

“I was speaking about the North Road.”

“Indeed, but in the rain.”

Sir Lionel sighed. “Indeed.”

Judith did not look at him, but he saw the corner of her mouth shift before she bent her head over her tea, and the tiny victory pleased him rather more than it ought.

“Do you intend to ride this morning?” Edward asked.

“If Lucifer has forgiven me.”

Judith looked up then. “What has he to forgive?”

“The ride north in the rain. It makes him exceedingly tetchy.”

“I would think a seasoned cavalry man could deal with a persnickety horse.”

Baines placed a hand against his chest. “Praise before nine o’clock. I shall remember this day.”