Free One Night of Scandal by Nicola Cornick

her skin heat from the inside outward. She could lie, at which she was unconscionably bad, or she could tell the truth, or she could yield…
    ‘The last time that I went riding with you proved to be a far from comfortable experience,’ she said truthfully. ‘I do not think it would be sensible to repeat it.’
    Richard smiled, and her heart jolted.
    ‘I see,’ he said softly. ‘You are afraid of me.’

    ‘No, I am not!’ Deb retorted. ‘At least, not in the way you imply.’
    ‘Then you are afraid of yourself,’ Richard countered perceptively, ‘and the way in which your impulses might lead.’
    Deb swallowed hard. She knew, and evidently so did Richard Kestrel, that her unruly impulses might lead her into all manner of disastrous situations as far as he was concerned. She tilted her chin to look at him.
    ‘I am merely concerned to be prudent.’
    ‘Do not be,’ Richard advised. ‘It is far more interesting to indulge your inclinations.’
    Deb smiled reluctantly. ‘My inclination, Lord Richard, is to return directly to the house and take a hot bath. Good day to you.’
    And she grasped her muddy skirts in one hand and escaped with what dignity she could muster, before she changed her mind.
     
    Richard Kestrel put aside the letter that had just reached him from his brother Justin in London and stared unseeing out of the window of Kestrel Court. On his return from his ride he had partaken of a second breakfast and was on his third cup of coffee. It was a glorious September morning with the early sunlight still pink and hazy as it lingered on the mist rising from the river, the Winter Race. It was a shame that he had not been able to persuade Deborah Stratton to accompany him on a ride. It was the most perfect morning for a brisk gallop across country and there was no one he would have enjoyed sharing it with more. Richard briefly considered taking a sail on the Deben, or even swimming in the sea. It looked calm enough today, albeit the water would hold the first icy chill of coming winter. Then his eye fell on the letter once more. Duty called. He could not abandon business for pleasure today.

    He settled down to read. In the case of the apprehension of the Midwinter spy, matters did not seem to proceed at all. Justin wrote that there was concern at the Admiralty that the Midwinter spy was still active in the Woodbridge area, passing on information to the French over such matters as the garrison numbers stationed in the town, the defences along that stretch of coast, the tidal waters of the Deben and other rivers, the state of the Volunteers and the preparations against invasion. Enquiries in London had yielded no information on the possible identity of the spy and her network, and Justin was talking of returning to Midwinter soon.
    Richard sighed, sitting back and resting his booted feet on the desk. For three months they had been stalking the Midwinter spy, watching and waiting, hoping for a mistake that would give the game away. He and Justin and their younger brother Lucas had whiled away the long hot days of high summer in paying court to the local ladies, chatting to the gentlemen, observing, sifting information, waiting patiently for some clue. None had been forthcoming. The Midwinter spy did not make mistakes.
    And now they were at the start of autumn, with the political situation at a critical point and invasion fever spreading panic, and still the spy was working right under their noses.
    Richard ran his hand through his hair. It was generally agreed that the spy was one of the ladies of the Midwinter villages, who hid behind a respectable façade whilst organising her treasonable activities. When Justin had first put forward this hypothesis, back in June, Richard had found it as difficult to believe as any gentleman would. Yet the meagre evidence they had suggested that the theory, unlikely as it seemed, had to be true. A female spy had been working on the south coast the previous year and had