‘Good match,’ Samuel said, giving her mild praise. Nothing annoyed her more. ‘You are a fair shot.’
He returned to the picnic blanket and picked up his hat. A bullet whistled past him and he dropped it. Turning, he saw that Frederica had shot his hat out of his hand. He picked up his hat and put his finger through the hole. ‘You could have killed me!’
‘Don’t be a ninny, Samuel,’ she said, her hands on her hips. ‘I have no intention of murdering you until after I have married you and provided an heir. How else would I be able to keep Farleigh Palace and all your ducal titles?’
Clamping his lips closed, he was determined not to smile at her words or her murderous wit.
Frederica threw back her head, laughing. ‘Come on, Samuel, let yourself laugh. That was hilarious.’
His lips twisted up into a small smile. ‘Macabre at best.’
She put her pistol back into her reticule. ‘Perhaps I am better thana fair shot, would you say?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Come on then, I have another surprise for you,’ she said as her groom helped her mount her horse. ‘I have arranged with the servants to give us a formal tour of the gardens and orchard at Château d’Hougoumont. It is quite lovely.’
He mounted his own horse and followed her to a large farmhouse with a garden enclosed behind stone walls and hidden from the road by trees. It looked like a small fortress. Frederica hailed a gardener, who took them through the wooden gate into a new world of flowers and flora. The garden was well-ordered in rows, but had a sense of whimsy. When they reached the orchard, Samuel paid the gardener and groom to go away. He pressed Frederica up against a flowering cherry tree and kissed her until he could no longer think.
Chapter Twelve
The ride to The King of Spain Inn in Genappe did not seem as long the second time. Nor was Frederica so stiff that she could barely walk when she got there. Still, she allowed Samuel to help her down from her horse. And if she pressed her body against his by accident as she slid down, who could blame a poor defenceless young woman getting off a horse? She smirked even if she could not tell if he was groaning in annoyance or moaning in appreciation. The sound he made caused a fluttering in her chest that was almost painful.
The innkeeper recognised them on sight and gave her one of his extremely low bows. He quickly wiped his hands on his apron and led her to the private parlour. ‘Tea for two?’
‘Trois,’Samuel corrected as the man led them back to the private parlour.
Frederica flashed him a wide smile and winked at him. The innkeeper’s red face turned even redder and he nodded vigorously. The next person to open the door was a waiter with a broken nose who introduced himself as Peters. He placed the tea service on the table and asked if they would like anything else.
‘No, that is all. Thank you, Peters.’
She and Samuel had drunk two cups of tea before Grant arrived. His wide-brimmed hat shadowed his eyes, but his thick lips were pursed. He still donned his scarlet uniform coat, but it looked a little worse for wear. The cuffs were fraying and the fabric would have been all the better with a thorough washing.
‘Ah, Lieutenant-Colonel Grant. We had almost given up on you,’ Frederica said, pouring him a cup of tea and placing it on the table near his chair. ‘I am afraid the tea may be a little cold.’
‘’Tis no matter,’ Grant said sharply.
‘My lady,’ Samuel added tersely.
The intelligence officer’s cheeks flushed a bright red as he added a reluctant ‘My lady’.
The Scot clearly did not like her. Or perhaps, it was just that he did not approve of a woman assisting in intelligence work. If that were the case, then Frederica did not think very highly ofhisintelligence.
Samuel cast her an apologetic look and the fluttering pain in her chest returned. He had never stood up for her before and now he was defending her like a knight in shining armour. Somehow, she seemed to have grown on him. Her lips curved up in a smile as she pictured her little sisters comparing their relationship to a fungus. They would probably compare her to the carnivorous American plant: the Venus flytrap. And like that plant, once she had Samuel in her tendrils, she had no intention of ever letting him go. His assurance, which had once felt insufferable, she now found terribly attractive. She’d never doubted that he was a loyal son and brother, and a noble friend. If he cared for her, there was nothing that he would not sacrifice for her good. She could not think of a worthier man whose heart she’d like to hold. But she couldn’t reveal her feelings for him yet. She needed to be sure that he returned her affections first.
‘Anything to report, Lieutenant-Colonel?’ Samuel asked.
Grant drained the rest of the tea from his cup before pulling out a wrinkled, sealed envelope from his coat. He handed it to Samuel, not sparing Frederica a glance. ‘Same time. Same place. Friday.’
Samuel nodded, tucking the dispatch into his plain black coat. ‘Very good, Grant. Good day.’
The Scot stood and saluted Samuel before leaving the room in the same abrupt manner that he had entered it.
Frederica delicately sipped her cold tea. ‘I am afraid that Grant is not fond of me. I am not saying that it is undeserved, but usually that level of disdain is reserved for people who know me better.’
She watched Samuel rake his fingers through his hair.
He shook his head back and forth slowly. ‘I do not think it is personal, Frederica. But rather, he knows how dangerous it is for you and he does not approve of me bringing you here. I do not blame his curtness.’