He could have tried to get the woman to drink the brew he’d made, but it’d been quicker to simply force it down her throat. Then he’d sat back and waited. The woman had sworn and cried at his treatment—she had already been drunk when he’d found her. Then, after a while, she’d clutched her stomach. Vomited. Shat.

And finally died.

Silas sighed and stretched, his muscles cramped from sitting so long on a damp boulder. He stood up and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He walked over to the stinking corpse and unwrapped the carved stag. Carefully he placed it a few steps from the woman. Close enough to be found but far enough away to have been dropped. He looked critically at the scene he’d created and found it good.

He smiled to himself and walked away.

A WEIGHT LAY ON HIS CHEST. Harry opened his eyes but didn’t move. He saw a cloud of ginger hair floating over his chest and right arm.

She’d stayed the night.

He glanced at the window and cursed silently. It was dawn already. He should’ve been up an hour past, and Lady Georgina should have left well before that. But lying here in a too-small bed with his lady was nice. He could feel the cushion of her breast against his side. Her breath puffed on his shoulder, and her arm was flung across his chest as if she had taken possession of him. And maybe she had. Perhaps he was like some enchanted prince in one of her tales and now she held the key to his heart.

The key to his very soul.

He closed his eyes again. He could smell her scent mingled with his. She stirred, her hand moving down over his belly, almost to his morning cockstand. He held his breath, but she stopped.

He needed to piss, and besides, she would be too sore this morning. He eased her arm off him. Harry sat up. Lady Georgina’s hair was a tangle around her face. He gently pushed it back, and she scrunched her nose in her sleep. He smiled. She looked like a wild gypsy lass. He bent, kissed her bare tit, and rose. He stoked the fire, then pulled on his trousers to take a piss outside. When he returned, he put water on to boil and glanced into the little bedroom again. His lady still slept.

He was taking down the teapot when someone started pounding on the cottage door. Quickly he shut the bedroom door. He palmed his knife and opened the cottage door a crack.

A gentleman stood outside. Tall, with reddish-brown hair. The stranger flicked a riding crop in one bony hand. A horse was tethered behind him.

“Aye?” Harry braced his right hand above his head. The other hand held the knife, hidden on his side of the doorjamb.