She rolled over and snuggled against him. Her hand stroked down his sweaty belly until she found his penis again. She held it. The argument could wait for tomorrow.

But when she woke in the morning, Harry was gone.

BENNET LAY WITH ONE ARM flung over his head and a foot hanging off the bed. In the moonlight, something metallic shone dully around his neck. He snored.

Harry stole across the darkened bedroom, placing his feet carefully. He should’ve quit the area the night he’d left his lady’s bed, a week ago now. And he had meant to. It had been harder than it should’ve been to watch his lady sleep, see her relaxed body after he’d given her pleasure, and know he must leave her. There was simply no other choice. They had kept secret his recovery from Granville, but it was only a matter of time before Silas found out. And when he did, Lady Georgina’s life would be in danger. Granville was insane. Harry had seen that firsthand during his stay in the lord’s dungeon. Whatever was driving Granville to seek Harry’s death had been let off its leash. Lord Granville would stop at nothing—not even an innocent woman—to see Harry dead. It would be irresponsible to put his lady’s life in danger for an affair that had no future.

He knew all this, and yet something still held him here in Yorkshire. As a result, Harry had become a master at sneaking. He hid from Granville’s watchful eyes and the men who had begun roaming the hills in the last few days, seeking him. Tonight he made almost no noise, just a faint creak from his leather boots. The man on the bed stirred not at all.

Still, the boy on the pallet beside the bed opened his eyes.

Harry stopped and watched Will. The boy nodded slightly. Harry returned the nod. He walked to the bed. For a moment, he stood looking down at Bennet. Then he leaned over and covered the other man’s mouth with his hand. Bennet jackknifed convulsively. He threw out his arms and managed to knock Harry’s hand aside.

“Wha—?”

Harry slapped his hand back down again, grunting as Bennet elbowed him. “Hist, you beef-wit. It’s me.”

Bennet fought for a second more, and then Harry’s words seemed to reach his brain. He froze.

Cautiously, Harry lifted his hand.

“Harry?”

“You’d better hope.” He spoke barely above a whisper. “The way you sleep, it could be marauders. Even the boy woke before you.”

Bennet leaned over the bed. “Will? Are you there?”

“Yes, sir.” Will had sat up sometime during the struggle.

“Jesus.” Bennet flopped back on the bed, covering his eyes with an arm. “You nearly gave me apoplexy.”

“You’ve gotten soft living in London.” The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched. “Hasn’t he, Will?”