Hero, Come Back by Stephanie Laurens

today, and what with the storm and all, I fear I am quite tired.”
    “I suppose you are.” Esme nodded toward a small cot in the corner. “Lie down over there, Miss Smythe. Sleep a bit. We can discuss everything in the morning.”
    The tea had done its work, for even as the girl’s head touched the pillow, Esme could see the dreams that rose within her guest. Wishes that tipped and toppled as they danced through a Season in London.
    Settling into her rocking chair and pulling out a pipe, Esme smoked and eavesdropped on the girl’s dreams.
    And of course into Miss Smythe’s slumberous interlude strode a man.
    “Isn’t there always one?” Esme said, nudging Nelson, who’d climbed up into her lap.
    The cat shook his head and then nodded at her to get on with her business. As far as Nelson was concerned, there was a fine dinner to be had out of all this.
    So caught up in her own jest, Esme almost missed a glance at the sort of man Miss Smythe desired. But when she did turn her attention to him, the elegant figure cutting a dashing path across Almack’s stopped her cold.
    A man with a carefree smile and a rakish gleam to his eyes. A man Esme knew only too well.
    “How could this be?” she whispered to the large tabby. Even the unflappable Nelson appeared stunned. Yet there he was, Miss Smythe’s heart’s desire, as clearly as if he’d just walked through Esme’s door.
    And now it was up to them to see that the girl found her way into his heart.
    Esme set the cat down, then rose and tottered over to the line of pegs on the wall, reaching for her cloak hanging there. Turning to Nelson, she motioned at him to follow her. “Storm or not; come along. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
    The cat grumbled something under his breath, but followed his mistress out into the dark and wretched night.
    A bargain was, after all, a bargain.

One
    The next morning…
    “ E sme, are you in there?” The door rattled on its hinges as something hard rapped against the solid oak. “Time to wake up, old gel. I come bearing gifts.”
    Miss Amanda Preston sat bolt upright in a narrow cot. For a moment she couldn’t reconcile the deep voice outside with the odd dreams she’d been having, least of all determine where she was or why she was wearing a night rail that wasn’t her own.
    As the man outside knocked again, this time a little more insistently, the sharp sound jolted her memory like the claps of thunder that had rattled the cottage through the long dark hours.
    The storm. She’d sought shelter here after she’d…
    She blinked at the bright and merry sunshine pouring in through the windows. The morning radiance had chased away the shadows and eeriness that had lent the lonely cottage such a mysterious air the night before. Especially since it seemed her well-meaning, albeit odd, hostess, Mrs. Maguire was gone. Not even that peculiar feline, Nelson, lurked about.
    Why, in daylight the entire place looked rather ordinary. Amanda would have sighed in disappointment had not the pounding started again, as well as the voice.
    “Esme? Are you well? Come now, open the door. Her Dragonship sent me over with a basket of provisions, including a nice roast chicken for Lord Nelson, and by the smell of it, a batch of Mrs. Stocken’s scones, which are making me nigh on faint. That, and this demmed leg.” The last comment was muttered more like a curse. “Oh, playing hard to get, are you? I’m going to count to three, and if you can’t get decent in that time, I’m still coming in.”
    Of all the impertinence, Amanda thought, until a jolt of panic raced through her. This man intended to come in, and she wasn’t dressed. Not even moderately decent.
    “One!” came the cry from the door.
    Goodness, where were her clothes? She glanced first toward the hearth where they had hung the last time she’d seen them. There was nothing there now but a bundle of herbs. She dashed out of bed and ran right into a low table, sending it