While he had been readying himself, Miss Hooper had apparently been doing the same. Although she wore the same clothing, she'd done up her corset – a difficult feat on her own but clearly not impossible – and tidied her hair from its night braid into a bun at the top of her head. Her cap still hung neatly on a peg in his bedroom, but she'd retrieved fresh stockings (and very likely underclothes) from the small trunk he'd brought with him from her home in Baxton. Her shoes, which had been sitting neatly by the front door, were back on her feet, buckles shining, and she'd clearly made use of the basin of water sat on the side table near the door to the kitchen. She was, in fact, the very picture of a young lady about to….

"No," he said flatly as realization dawned. "Absolutely not."

She raised her chin and folded her hands at her waist, her attitude forcibly reminding him of both her aunt and his own mother at her most intransigent. "And why not? Surely if our situation was truly what we wish others to believe it to be, you would be expected to escort me to breakfast? Not simply abandon me here to my own devices?"

He glowered, but found himself unable to dredge up an argument capable of refuting her point, especially after Moran had made such a point of sending Sherlock off to fetch her belongings – or rather, such belongings as he could reasonably be expected to carry on horseback. His commanding officer wished to be certain of her continued presence, and if Sherlock appeared at the breakfast table without her on his arm, he would likely be commanded to turn right around and fetch her.

Why, why, WHY hadn't he taken that into consideration when he was preparing himself this morning?

Oh, he knew why. The reason was standing in front of him, looking up at him with those enormous brown eyes of hers. Her lips still appeared swollen from his kisses – he hadn't been gentle with her, as he'd originally intended to be. Instead he'd been…demanding. Passionate. Desperate.

In short, not a gentleman at all. And she had responded like no lady was supposed to, in spite of his certainty that she'd never been kissed before this morning. If he'd lifted her skirts and slipped his fingers 'neath her drawers, would he have found her dewy with want, a match for his own desire when he'd pressed against her body as if she were in truth his mistress?

"Very well," he bit out, thrusting his arm out impatiently, desperate to distract his mind from such inappropriate thoughts. "Let us be off, then, Miss Hooper. And do be sure to express your gratitude to the good Colonel for allowing you this opportunity to spend more time with me."

"I can assure you, Captain Holmes, I can simper with the best of them," came her pert reply. Sherlock gave a reluctant smile; in spite of the difficulties presented by their current circumstances, he appreciated Miss Hooper's quick-wittedness. It would stand her in good stead as they negotiated the rocky shoals ahead of them.

When she tucked her hand daintily into the crook of his arm, an unexpected warmth stole over him. Memories of the kisses they'd shared once again invaded his mind – the sensation of her body pressed so intimately against his, her lips parting when he deepened the kiss…He cleared his throat and groped blindly for his hat, clapping it onto his head in spite of the fact that they hadn't left the house yet. She gave him a puzzled look, her eyes widening as they met his. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face; a faint blush coloured her cheeks and her mouth dropped open the slightest bit.

Mesmerized by the sight of those pink lips parting, Sherlock dipped his head down, his free hand reaching for her upper arm, tugging her closer, closer, as his mouth hovered over hers…

The sound of knocking at the front door broke the spell; the two of them jumped apart as if burnt. Molly slipped her hand free of his arm and fussed a bit with her shawl, eyes modestly lowered, while he forced himself to move away from her and toward the door. It was Wiggins, looking somewhat the worse for wear but eyes alight with curiosity as he not-so-unobtrusively craned his head to get a look as Miss Hooper.

Sherlock cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "Is there something you needed, Corpsman?" he snapped.

"Yessir!" Wiggins snapped off a hasty salute. "Colonel Moran's compliments, and he hopes you and the lady will break fast with him this morning. In his private parlour."

Sherlock groaned. "Oh for G…uh, for heaven's sake, why can't he just follow his usual procedure and spare me this additional torture?"

Wiggins simply shrugged. "Ours not to question why," he said philosophically.

"You ought to put that down in a poem," Sherlock muttered. The corpsman gave him an impudent grin and Sherlock dismissed him, gesturing for Molly to precede him.

oOo

Molly allowed none of her considerable trepidation to show as she and Captain Holmes were escorted up the stairs of the inn to join the odious Colonel Moran in his private parlour. She held her head high as they passed by the officers gathered in the main room to break their fast, nodding pleasantly as many of them vacated their seats and stood whilst she and the captain were in the room. Their mothers had clearly raised them well, if not properly; as the publicly-declared mistress of the man by her side, she was due no respect by any of them, no matter what her other station in life. But seeing that Doctor Watson had been the first to rise to his feet – and offer her a respectful bow of his head as she passed him – she supposed they felt they could offer no less courtesy. Well, some of them. The rest simply kept their heads resolutely down, as if whatever food was on their plates occupied their fullest attention.

Once they reached the landing of the first floor, however, her façade faltered. Standing at attention by a closed door was Sergeant Moriarty, the young man who'd so eagerly – and cruelly – bound her wrists together; who'd shown even more eagerness at the prospect of questioning her. She managed to hold back a shudder, and felt the muscles in Captain Holmes' arm tighten briefly, as if he, too, shared her wariness for the other man. Which, she remembered, he most certainly did. However, like herself, her companion was able to refrain from any further reactions to the sergeant's presence. "Colonel Moran is expecting us," was all the captain said as they came to a stop in front of the Irishman, his tone tinged with the cool, deliberate hauteur of the aristocrat.

"Aye, sir, you and the…" the pause was obvious and calculated, as was the look Moriarty gave her before saying with exaggerated doubtfulness, "…lady are to go right in. The Colonel will join you shortly." Then he opened the door and ushered them inside with a broad (and very clearly mocking) sweep of the arm. Captain Holmes swept past him without another word, drawing her along with him. She was unable to control a small shudder as she passed the man, and heard him give a small chuckle before the door closed behind them.

As soon as they were alone she released her grip on Captain Holmes' arm, drawing her shawl tightly about her and turning away from him. She needed a moment to compose herself; the brief encounter with Sergeant Moriarty had awoken such a fierce revulsion in her breast that she feared for her ability to present his superior with a calm demeanour.

"Moran will attempt to flatter you."

Startled by the captain's abrupt – but quietly spoken – words, Molly turned to face him. "Why do you say that?" She instinctively kept her own voice to a murmur, casting her eyes briefly to the door to convey to her companion that she knew their conversation might otherwise be overheard by unfriendly ears.

"Because that's the sort of odious toad he is," he replied, his voice and eyes cold, his lips barely moving as he moved closer to the small room's single window. Molly followed him, still clutching her shawl around her in a protective gesture. "He'll see you as fair game, a fallen woman willing to lift her skirts for any man, not just the one under whose protection she currently finds herself." His lip curled in disdain as he added, "And of course he'll be pleased to seduce you away from such a troublesome young officer as myself; he dare not take direct action against me that might be reported to my family, but stealing my mistress for himself? Much more to his taste – and his ultimately cowardly nature."

The thought of the other man attempting any such thing made Molly's skin crawl. "Well," she said, lifting her head and meeting Captain Holmes' gaze steadily, "we shall have to make it quite clear that the two of us are far too enamoured of one another to allow any such thing to come to pass."

His expression went from startled to amused to appreciative so rapidly that she might have missed the series of transitions, had she not been studying him so closely. Speaking of closely…he moved forward and placed a hand on her waist, drawing her closer and lowering his head so that his lips brushed her ear as he murmured, "Yes, we shall have to be most diligent in our pretence, Miss Hooper. Most diligent, indeed." Then his lips moved from her ear to her mouth, and suddenly Molly found herself being kissed breathless.

The sound of someone loudly clearing their throat behind them caused her to gasp and pull away, as best she could considering that Captain Holmes kept his hands firmly on her waist (both hands? When had that happened?).

"Good morning, Colonel," he drawled in greeting. "My apologies for the unseemly display, but as you no doubt surmised, I have found it most pleasant to have Miss Hooper in such close proximity, rather than having to travel to spend…time…with her."

Molly's cheeks burned, not only because of the recently-ended kiss or the way they'd been interrupted in so intimate a moment, but also because of the obvious innuendo in Captain Holmes' words. She pulled her hands away from his chest (when had they landed there?) and nervously smoothed down her skirts as he finally released her. He escorted her to the small table that had been set up for the three of them, and which she had been far too preoccupied to notice before now, and politely helped her take her seat. He waited for Colonel Moran to seat himself before taking his own, placing his hat on the floor by his chair as he did so.

The next hour passed with nerve-racking slowness. Tea was offered and accepted (although to Molly's colonial sensibilities, it was a bitter brew indeed, no matter how much sugar and cream she added); the food was served (thankfully not by Sergeant Moriarty); and small talk was made. As Captain Holmes had predicted, Colonel Moran oozed false sympathy and flattery, complimenting Molly on her gown, her complexion, and even her manners. As if such could possibly win her to his side, considering that only yesterday he'd been prepared to have her questioned and put to the gallows!

Surely he'd not been completely lulled into complacency by her and Captain Holmes' display of affection (false display, she must never let herself forget that!) – but just as surely, he was hoping that she might be fooled into believing his suspicions to be completely allayed and thus make a false step. Well, he could wait until the very gates of Hell opened beneath his feet before she would allow any such mistake on her own part! Nor, she was confident, would Captain Holmes be so unwary. Secure in that belief, she managed to complete the meal without giving way to a fit of nerves or demonstrating any lack of knowledge that might betray the newness of her relationship with the handsome, infuriating man to whom she was now bound.

She watched her supposed lover from under her lashes as he and Colonel Moran discussed their schedules for the day, alert for anything that might prove useful to her allies should she find a way out of this predicament in time for them to make use of such information. Alas, the conversation remained quite general, thus freeing her to focus instead on how handsome a profile the captain presented, how captivating his lips were, how intense his blue (green? grey?) eyes were when he spoke. None of which, she had to remind herself sharply, would in any way allow her to find a means to escape and make her way…well, certainly not home, but to friends who might hide her from possible retribution.

As she silently scolded herself for acting like a smitten schoolgirl, the captain laughed at something Moran said, and she found herself captivated all over again; his laugh was full-throated and relaxed, and his face when he smiled…devastating. Absolutely devastating. Her heart gave a little stutter in her chest as he turned that smile on her, and she was helpless to do anything but smile back at him.

oOo

Kissing Molly had been a mistake. Oh, not from a strategic standpoint; it had, in fact, had the desired effect on Colonel Moran, at least temporarily distracting him from his suspicions of the two of them and focusing his efforts this morning more on falsely wooing Molly than on attempting to catch them out in a lie of any kind. No, the mistake had been due to his wilfully forgetting how much Molly's kisses affected himself. Fortunately (loath though he was to admit any cause of gratitude to the man) Moran's arrival had occurred before any physical manifestations of his blasted attraction to the diminutive but extraordinarily enticing woman had appeared. He'd had more than enough of that for one day, thank you very much!

She'd been as flustered as he at the end of the kiss, he'd been pleased to note, and not because of any possible acting skills she might possess; no, he flattered himself that it was strictly because he affected her as strongly as she affected him. Her prettily pink cheeks had certainly helped Moran to focus on her as a woman rather than as a potential spy, and he'd acted the perfect host during their shared meal – at least maintaining a veneer of polite behaviour towards a female guest.

His manners had lasted only as long as Molly was in the room; as soon as Sherlock had risen to escort her back to his – their – billet, the colonel had found some excuse to keep him behind, ordering Sergeant Moriarty to escort her in his stead. She'd tensed, but visibly forced herself to relax, smiling and giving his senior officer a polite curtsey when he bowed over her hand and begged her pardon for the 'unavoidable' separation. "But the sergeant will see you safely to your new home," he'd said, oozing false sincerity from every pore. "And see to any of your needs whilst Captain Holmes and I confer."

Sherlock had to pretend that yes, this was perfectly fine as he, too, bowed over her hand and accepted a small curtsey by way of farewell. His eyes flashed her a warning, to which she gave a slight nod of understanding; good, very good, she knew quite well how dangerous Moriarty could be…and how unlikely he was to be influenced by the delicateness of her femininity. Still, the sergeant had a hearty interest in his own survival; that was probably Miss Hooper's best guarantee of safety at present.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Moran revealed his truer self by leering at Sherlock and saying, "So, is she as good a tumble as she appears to be? The quiet, demure types always turn out to be the most boisterous between the sheets, in my experience."

Sherlock had never pretended to be interested in any such lascivious banter in the past, and saw no reason to change his attitude now. "What occurs between myself and Miss Hooper in private is not something I care to discuss with anyone, if you don't mind. Sir," he added stiffly. "I am, however, quite ready to receive whatever new assignment you might have for me and my men, since I presume that is the true reason you've asked me to remain behind."

Moran, who had retaken his seat, gave Sherlock a narrow stare. "Yes, you're right. There's a nest of rebels holed up not forty miles from here, according to intelligence I've received this morning. I'll need you to roust them out."

The talk remained on military matters for the next hour; they were soon joined by two of the other officers as strategies were suggested and plans were laid. Nevertheless, Sherlock knew with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the 'honour' he'd been given by taking on so important a mission was not meant as anything more than a test of his loyalty at best – and at worst, the means of his possible demise.

A/N: Thank you again for your kind reviews, they make a writer's day!