Jake slipped from his hiding place and darted forward. His father and Gabby were still standing by the coach, talking to each other. No one was looking in his direction. Around him people were running, shouting, leaping from the quay to the boat decks and back again. Ropes were being untied, sheets loosened, and sails unfurled. Lymington estuary was in full flood, the tide flowing strongly toward the Solent at its mouth, and there was a night of fishing and crabbing to be done. Some would trawl their nets in the deep waters off the Brittany coast, on the lookout for hostile French shipping, and one craft at least, like the Curlew, would ferry and offload those who sailed by night about clandestine business.

The three men had their backs turned to the gangway. Jake leaped across it in four steps and dived behind a roll of canvas sailcloth in the bow of the boat. He crouched there, his heart beating fast, but too excited for fear. In a minute Gabby would come aboard and his father would drive off and the boat would sail out of the river. He wouldn't tell anyone he was there until they got to France. How long did it take to sail to France? Perhaps all night?

"Let's get you aboard," Nathaniel said, putting an arm lightly around Gabrielle's shoulders, shepherding her toward the craft riding easily on the swelling tide. "I'll give you your detailed instructions in the cabin."

He went ahead of her across the gangplank, jumped down to the deck, and, turning, held out his hand to her. He was smiling, and there was something raffish about him, Gabrielle realized as he stood there in the torchlit night, the carelessly knotted kerchief at his throat, one booted foot on the gangplank, his other hand resting on his knee, the cloak falling back from his shoulders revealing the slender, tensile frame.

She didn't think she'd ever seen him like this, radiating some secret pleasure… just like Jake, she thought, recognizing one of those flashes of similarity between parent and child.

Nathaniel was obviously relishing the prospect of whatever adventure awaited him once she'd left. Not to be outdone, Gabrielle forced a smile of her own and sprang lightly across the gangplank, disdaining his helping hand with an airy wave.

"There's a cabin of sorts below," Nathaniel said, ushering her toward the hatchway. "Primitive, I'm afraid, but hopefully not too fishy." His voice was bright and his eyes had the wicked gleam in their depths that Gabrielle associated with their most imaginative playtimes.

Obviously the prospect of a dangerous piece of espionage, or whatever he was about to engage upon, gave him as much of a sexual thrill as lovemaking, she decided morosely, following him down the narrow companionway.

There was a strong smell of fish, and the oil lantern hanging from the low ceiling gave off noxious smoky fumes, its flickering light casting grotesque shadows on the planked bulkhead. A skinny bunk was set into the bulkhead with a coarse blanket over a straw pallet. It was airless and yet dank and chill. However, Gabrielle told herself, the journey shouldn't take more than twelve or thirteen hours, and she could always go up on deck.

She turned to her companion. “So, perhaps you’d better give me my instructions."

Nathaniel leaned back against the stained planking of the bolted-down central table, arms folded, his eyes hooded.

"No, I think I'll wait a bit."

"Wait? But for heaven's sake, Nathaniel, the boat's about to sail."

"I know."

"Just what are you getting at?" Gabrielle glared at him in infuriated bewilderment.

Nathaniel remained unmoved. "Simply that you're not going alone."

Gabrielle felt as if she'd lost touch with her own moorings just as the boat lurched beneath her and a voice yelled an instruction accompanying the squeak of a sail running up the masthead. She grabbed the edge of the table as the boat swung slowly away from the quayside and the wind filled the mainsail.

"You're coming to France?" she asked carefully.

"Just so."

"But why?"

"My dear girl, I never send an agent into the field alone on a first mission," he informed her coolly. "They always have a mentor, someone who knows the area and the setup. I'm going to act as your mentor on this mission, and if all goes well, then I daresay future ones you may conduct alone."

"Well, why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, her eyes blazing.

"I wanted to see how you would behave when faced with the prospect of going alone into danger."

The authoritarian, matter-of-fact statement was the last straw. What the devil did he know about how she faced danger?

"I am sick to death of your damn tests," Gabrielle declared, jabbing at his chest with a forefinger. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Your spymaster," he said, catching the jabbing finger and holding it away from him. "And you will submit to any test I decide to set-unless you wish to abandon this plan?"

Gabrielle drew breath deep into her lungs. He was still holding her finger, and there was a sudden intensity in the eyes resting on her face.

Tell meyou'll give it up. Go on, Gabrielle, say it. It's not too late. The fervency of his unspoken thoughts shocked him. He'd believed he was resigned, accepting of her treachery, but he wasn't. He didn't know if he could forgive, if they could make some new start. But perhaps if Gabrielle pulled back now…

Their eyes held for a minute, then Gabrielle laughed and pulled her finger out of his grip. "Don't be silly. Of course I don't want to."

"No, of course not," he said.

Gabrielle sat down on the narrow bunk, frowning. At least it offered a satisfactory explanation for why Nathaniel hadn't appeared unduly depressed at the prospect of their parting. But she wasn't accustomed to having the ground cut from beneath her feet, and just recently Nathaniel had been doing chat with tiresome regularity.

Yet, despite her annoyance, she couldn't deny the little prickles of pleasure and excitement at the prospect of extending their time together despite the complications that were bound to result.

"So you're traveling to Paris?" she said after a minute.

"Yes, under your protection," he informed her without batting an eyelid. "Your laissez passer I assume will cover a servant."

Gabrielle gazed at him, for a moment speechless. Of all the effrontery! But it was still a brilliant strategy, one she would have come up with herself.

"Nathaniel Praed, you are… you are… oh, there isn't a word strong enough to describe you."

Nathaniel reached for her, hauling her to her feet and pulling her between his knees. Her eyes were on a level with his.

"Would you rather travel alone, Gabrielle?"

She shook her head ruefully. "No. You know I wouldn't. I didn't want us to part."

"I know you didn't. And neither did I. We seem to be intertwined, you and I," he said with a dry smile.

"Yes," Gabrielle agreed quietly. A chill ran down her spine as someone walked over her grave. Intertwined enemies. Deadly enemies. She hated Nathaniel for what he had done to Guillaume and to her, and yet she could barely contemplate being away from him.

She looked into his eyes and saw her own reflection in the dark irises. There was something in the brown depths that she couldn't read, something of a most powerful intensity that sent renewed chills over her skin. It was more than simple passion, it was almost menacing. And then he caught her head between his hands and brought his mouth to hers and reason and unease yielded to the familiar heady rush of desire.

On deck, Jake shivered in his hiding place as the fishing boat ran before the wind up the estuary. Papa had gone into the cabin with Gabby and hadn't come out. He was still on the boat, and now they were going to France.

Voices reached him from the other side of his hiding place, the rough male voices of the skipper and his crew. Jake shivered with terror and the tears tracked soundlessly down his cheeks. He inched closer to the deck rail and the surging cold black water beneath. He couldn't swim. If he jumped, he'd drown. But if he stayed, they'd find him. And Papa would find him… and…