“Of course,” Espy crowed. “And a spy in the hand is worth a great deal more than dispatches to the French. Give him to me!”
“Miranda,” Daniel spoke softly. “Do you know that I love you?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Do you trust me never to do anything that might jeopardize your life?”
“Without question.”
“Then pick up your feet. Now!”
Miranda did as he instructed, lifting her feet from the ground in the same instant that Daniel flung the leather pouches at Espy’s head and sprinted toward him. Espy fired his weapon as Daniel knocked him to the ground. Miranda fell back, landing in the soft sand beside the leather pouches.
“Is everyone all right?” Daniel asked, gingerly rolling to his knees to watch as Micah, Billy Beekins, Pepper, Shavers, Colin, and Griff surrounded Espy and jerked him to his feet.
“We’re fine,” Micah called. “His shot hit the water.”
“Miranda?” he gasped.
“I’m all right.” She reached out and touched him on the shoulder.
“Thank God,” he breathed. “My head knew the danger was minimal, but my heart …”
“Your heart?” she prompted.
“My heart was in my throat,” he whispered. “I thought I might die of loving you.” He closed his eyes and keeled over on the beach.
“Daniel? Daniel!” She shook him. “Are you shot?”
“No,” he groaned. “But I’m afraid I’ve destroyed your needlework.”
“Lean on me,” she ordered as she attempted to lift him and fell to her knees. “You still weigh a ton.”
Daniel yelped. “You’re no featherweight yourself. Thank God.”
“Allow us.”
Miranda looked up as Colin and Griffin helped Daniel to his feet.
“Now you know what we do for an evening’s enterta
inment away from home and hearth,” Griff said with a wink.
Colin nodded. “And we’d appreciate it if you’d keep all this excitement to yourself, Your Grace.” He smiled at her. “No need to worry our lovely wives.” Colin put an arm around Daniel’s waist, and together he and Griffin boosted him into the coach.
“Indeed,” Miranda replied. “I’ll have nightmares just thinking about it, but your secrets are safe with me.”
“Well done, Your Grace.” Micah offered his hand.
“Thank you.”
“I’m Micah Beekins,” he told her as he helped her into the coach, then climbed up beside her. “Not to worry, ma’am. We’ll take Danny Boy … I mean … His Grace … to my mother. She knows just what to do. She’s done it afore and she’ll have him stitched up again in no time.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Kiss till the cow comes home.”
—Francis Beaumont, c. 1584–1616,