Read It Takes a Hero for Free Online Page A

returned home whistling a ditty she probably shouldn't know, and not caring if anyone heard her. She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled at the glowering figure of Mr. Danvers standing beside the graveyard.
    Pompous fellow. But weren't they all? These London dandies and scatterbrained misses, making the trip to Bramley Hollow like it was some great pilgrimage and seeking out their own bit of fame by trying to find the mysterious author of the
Miss Darby
novels.
    Why, if the stories continued to grow in popularity, Bramley Hollow would be overrun with these nitwits.
    She had to give Mr. Danvers credit. He was quite the most inventive of the lot. All dark and dangerous like some infamous Bow Street Runner, carrying on as if he held the very fate of the world and Miss Briggs was the key.
    "Bah!" she muttered under her breath. His packet of papers was probably nothing more than his tailor's bill.
    No, she thought, changing her mind. He didn't look the sort who spent a great deal of time fussing about his looks. His coat and neckerchief, tied in a very hasty knot, spoke of a man who didn't like to be held to fashion's fastidious rules.
    In truth, he most likely didn't need a commanding suit of clothes to get his way—his charm and disarming smile probably had the female population of London falling at his feet offering their aid in whatever he sought.
    She could see why. It would be easy to believe the lies that tumbled from his lips like honey, trust that the unfathomable depths of his dark eyes could be navigated without peril to one's heart.
    Poor Mr. Danvers
, she thought remembering the shock on his face as he stared down at Miss Briggs' grave and realized he hadn't gotten his way.
    Most likely it was the first time he'd ever had a woman deny him. Served him right. Really, it wasn't as if she were the type of lady worth all his flattery and gawking. Yet in the glow of his charm and smile, he'd made her feel like one of those Originals in town who kept all the men at sixes and sevens. He'd gazed at her like she was some daring Incognita, a wicked lady in heart and deed.
    Perhaps, Rebecca mused, she was as wicked as Mrs. Wortling, their housekeeper, liked to tell her uncle. And while she considered herself a practical lady, since most poor ones were by necessity, she had no delusions about who or what she was. A plain, country spinster.
    As Rebecca drew up to her gate, the shrill voice of their resident harridan rang out with a discordant trill.
    "Colonel, sir, come down off the roof. I have it on good authority your watch is over and there ain't a bit of them Benjali blokes lurking about."
    Rebecca cringed. Her uncle was on the roof again.
    She glanced around to see if the neighbors had noticed. If they had, they would be giving the cottage a wide berth. Especially after the colonel had shot at John Benton a few months back, mistaking him for a Punjab scout.
    "Who goes there?" the colonel bellowed from behind the chimney.
    Rebecca stopped at the gate and glanced up at the roof. Lord, there he was again, Brown Bess in hand. She swore she'd locked it and the powder up after the last incident.
    " 'Tis me, Colonel. Rebecca," she called to him. "I've been to town." She held up her basket for him to see.
    "Lieutenant Bex. Good man," he said, cautiously poking his nose around the brick and mortar. "Thinking of provisions when we are all but surrounded."
    "Only by Englishmen, sir. Now come down and I'll see if I can get Mrs. Wortling to serve us an early tea."
    "Tea? At a time like this? Never, my good man. Besides, we seem to be out of shot and powder."
    Good
, she thought. He hadn't managed to find where she'd hidden it. She'd told him time and time again not to shoot at the neighbors. Even if it was only to keep up appearances.
    Around her feet a large mangy ginger colored cat wove and purred. Rebecca set her basket down and snatched up the animal. "What if I were to send up Ajax?" she offered.
    "Corporal Ajax, you say? He's