Free In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster by Stephanie Laurens

twisting close, every tavern, better than the backs of their hands.
    Jeremy entertained not the slightest doubt that they, and Cobby’s wife, Meggin, too, would help in any way they could.
    But exactly how to effect Eliza’s rescue …
    He was juggling potential scenarios when the light playing across the ceiling started flickering. Glancing at the candle, he saw it was close to guttering. Rising, he divested himself of his clothes, realizing as he did that he couldn’t risk being seen by Eliza’s captors while he was hanging around the inn yard tomorrow morning.
    Following that thought further, he considered what Tristan, in the same position, would do, and amended his plans accordingly.
    Snuffing the candle, he climbed between the sheets and stretched out, once again staring upward. This was the first time in his thirty-seven years that he’d engaged in a real-life drama where he was the one who had to make the plans. Where the mission, as it were, was his to run.
    He hadn’t previously realized what a challenge it would be, let alone that he might enjoy such an undertaking, but the truth was his mind saw the enterprise as an activity rather like chess — real-life chess without a defined set of pieces, board, or rules.
    He’d forgotten what it had felt like all those years ago when he’d been caught up in the strange events at Montrose Place — the thrill, the enthralling tension, of engaging with a villain, of trying to win, to triumph over an adversary.
    To fight on the side of right.
    Lips curving, he turned onto his side and closed his eyes.
    And admitted to himself that he’d forgotten there were other entertaining challenges in life beyond the ones contained in millennia-old hieroglyphics.

Chapter Three
     
    liza was shaken awake by Genevieve in the morning.
    When she blinked her eyes open, the nurse pointed to the washstand. “Best get yourself washed and dressed. Breakfast will be served soon, downstairs, and Scrope wants to get on to Edinburgh without delay.”
    Groggily, Eliza pushed back the covers and sat up. The morning air was chill. Tugging the coverlet off the bed, she wrapped it about her shoulders, then shuffled across to the washstand. She wasn’t a morning person; that, too, was Heather or Angelica, not her.
    The water in the pewter ewer was lukewarm. Tucking the coverlet under her arms, she used both hands to lift the ewer and pour … considered the ewer’s weight and solidity as she did. What if she called Genevieve over, used the ewer to strike her unconscious, then got dressed and rushed out of the room … straight into Scrope’s arms. He, or Taylor, would very likely be waiting for her and Genevieve to appear.
    Setting down the ewer, Eliza splashed water on her face, blinking, gradually coming fully awake.
    Attempting an escape now, on her own, was unlikely to succeed and would alert Scrope and his minions to her underlying, disguised determination. And no good would come of that.
    She dried her face with the thin towel provided. Her previous night’s conclusion reached with Jeremy still held sound. She would travel on to Edinburgh and place her faith in him.
    In an absentminded scholar.
    Returning to the bed, and her thoroughly crushed evening gown, she reminded herself that he had climbed the inn’s roof, an action of which she wouldn’t previously have thought him capable; clearly he had hidden depths.
    She could only pray that those depths were deep enough to manage her rescue.
    As soon as Eliza was ready, Genevieve made sure she was enveloped in her cloak, then ushered her out of the room. Taylor was indeed waiting in the corridor to escort both women down the stairs to a tiny private parlor. Breakfast was consumed in rushed silence, then Taylor left to bring the coach to the door.
    Scrope watched from the window; when the coach was in position, he looked at Eliza. “You know the tale we’ll tell if you make a scene. There’s no reason to make this more difficult on