Blowing out the candle on her bedside table, Emily slipped under her covers. She'd made it through dinner, avoided Catharine's company afterward by pleading a headache, and suffered through Angela's ablutions. Now the tears could come.

But they didn't. She was all dried out, hollow. Exhausted. She wanted to regret what had happened between her and Lord Blackstone, but she found she could not. Even if he did. What a stupid girl she was. She couldn't prevent herself from reliving the wild pendulum of the day's emotions-both hers and his. His visceral relief that she wasn't dead and her guilt for frightening him so. Their wild, frantic coupling-even now, though it shamed her, moisture gathered between her legs as she thought back to the astonishing feeling of him inside her. Then, his remoteness after her refusal of his almost angry proposal. And yet another interrogation about the scar. Always the scar.

Maybe she should have told him about that night. He'd clearly surmised that Mr. Manning had whipped her, so what did it matter if he knew the details? It's not as if things between them could be made any worse. It was just that talking about it meant she had to think about it. And thinking about it was almost unbearable. She closed her eyes, unable to stop the unwelcome memories from barreling down on her.

"We're almost there! Hurry!" Billy slowed and looked over his shoulder.

Emily ran as fast as she could, heedless of the branches scratching her face as she raced through the woods. Both of them panting, they burst through to a small clearing. Relief flooded her when she saw the horse was still there.

"I can't believe it worked!" Her heart beat as much from excitement as it did from physical exertion. They had done it!

"You got everything exactly right," said Billy, taking her hands and looking into her eyes.

She ducked her head, embarrassed by the praise. But in truth, she was proud of herself, of all the painstaking planning that had led to this moment. From the stolen horse to the inebriated guards, everything had fallen into place.

"This is as much money as I could get." She pressed a leather pouch into his hands.

"I will pay you back." When she shook her head, he said it again. "I will pay you back, when I am a free man, paid for my work."

"In that case, I gladly accept. But you only owe me a pound. The rest I stole from him."

They grinned at each other, relishing the prospect of making even a miniscule dent in Mr. Manning's fortune.

"We will find each other," he said. "Repeat it. Where?"

"Beneath the giants of St. Dunstan's, in Fleet Street, after Sarah marries," she repeated, like a schoolgirl reciting her sums. "I know, I know, but I'm not sure I'll be able to leave your mother."

"We'll get Mama, but you must come first. You must leave this place as soon as you can. And she agrees with me. I wish you would not even wait for Sarah."

"She has so many beaux it's only a matter of time. Mr. Talbot may even propose tonight. I can't leave her. Sally knows how to handle him; she's strong. But Sarah-"

"I know. Tell me again."

"St. Dunstan's. Three o'clock."

"I will be there every day until you come." Billy folded her in his arms, and she choked back tears. She'd thrown herself into preparations these past weeks, never allowing herself to really think about the fact that success would mean losing her best friend.

He pulled away, holding her shoulders lightly as he contemplated her from arm's length. "Thank you," he said, staring at her so intently that she felt every bit of emotion behind those two simple words.

She smiled through her tears. "Good-bye, my friend."

Then it all went to hell.

"Good-bye?" The sneering voice came from nowhere. "I think not."

She whirled, trying to find him, even as she shoved Billy toward the horse. "Go!" she screamed. "Run!"

But it was too late. Mr. Manning dismounted along with a group of men, most of whom she recognized from the village. The magistrate was among them, and he moved between Billy and the horse. They all had guns, and Emily cried out in protest as one of them pointed a pistol at Billy's head.

"You ungrateful bitch." Mr. Manning spoke quietly, which was more upsetting, somehow, than shouting would have been. "This is what I get for taking you in, providing you a home all these years, raising you up next to my only child?" Before Emily could speak he went on. "You thought you were smart enough to pull off this stunt, didn't you? Always thought you were better than us, with your nose in a book all day long."

"We could charge her," offered the magistrate. "She has stolen your property, in a manner of speaking."

"That won't be necessary." Mr. Manning still held the whip he'd obviously been using on his horse-the poor beast was sweating and foaming at the mouth. He slapped the handle against one palm, over and over, like a slow heartbeat. Looking back and forth between Emily and Billy, who had been restrained by the men, he said, "I will administer a punishment to both that is appropriate to the offense." He grinned at the group, some of whom chuckled in response. "If you men will be so kind as to accompany us home, you will be able to get back to the fair in no time-and you'll have my everlasting thanks."

Billy began to speak, insisting that Emily had had nothing to do with the attempted escape.

"No!" she shouted, as the men hoisted her up onto a horse, draping her over the saddle as if she were a sack of potatoes. She didn't know if that "no" was directed at the men, or at Billy for trying to assume sole responsibility for their crimes.

It hardly mattered. No one was listening to her. But she kept saying, "No," as her tears fell and a great big chasm opened up in her soul.

"No, no, no!"

"Miss Mirren! Please wake up."

A voice began to penetrate her consciousness. Arms that had become familiar snaked around her. "Eric," she whispered.

"Yes. You're having a nightmare. Whatever it is, it's not real."

She buried her face in his neck and breathed in the citrus-tinged sea air smell of him. "It was real," she whispered. It seemed important, somehow, that he understand. "It happened."

"Not a nightmare, then," he said, hugging her tighter. "A memory."

He understood. It felt like he was transmitting empathy though his body into hers as he stroked her back. Concentrating on the circular movement of his hand on her back, she took a deep, shaky breath, and her heart began to slow.

After a few moments he said, simply, "Tell me."

She didn't hesitate this time. "He caught me trying to help Billy escape. He whipped us both." She knew she didn't have to specify who "he" was.

Because he held her so close, she couldn't see his face. But she felt his body react. His shoulders tightened, and a low growl emerged from somewhere deep inside his chest. When he pulled away so he could look at her, he had mostly composed himself, though he was still clenching his jaw.

"We almost made it," she said, wistfully.

"What went wrong?"

"We'd been planning for months. It was the night of the village fair. The one night of the year everyone was in the village. Billy used to sleep in the barn. Mr. Manning left two boys from the village to guard it. He must have paid them a great deal, because the fair really was the event of the year-no one ever wanted to miss it. At the time, Mr. Talbot was courting Sarah, and she hoped he would propose at the fair, which he did end up doing. I arranged for a cask of ale to be left for the boys-they thought Mr. Manning had left it for them as part of their compensation for missing the fair."

"You got them foxed."

Emily thought she detected a hint of admiration in his voice. "Yes. I waited until one of them had passed out, and then I sneaked into the barn while the other one was refilling his tankard and-" Her voice broke. It was so difficult to revisit that night. "I untied Billy. He'd been left bound." She spoke faster. She wanted him to know everything now-it seemed imperative for reasons she chose not to examine-but the act of telling him was excruciating. "We simply walked away. I had previously stolen a horse from Mr. Manning and tied it up in a clearing about half a mile from the house. I had money and clothes for Billy. It was all... It was all..." She couldn't finish. Her mind wanted her to go on, but her mouth would not form the necessary sounds.

"It was all set," he said, finishing the sentence with the exact word she'd been going to use. "It must have been so heartbreaking to come so close."

Yes. He knew. She nodded vigorously.

"How did he find out?"

"I never knew. Perhaps the boy at the barn realized Billy had escaped and ran to the village. The fact that it was the night of the fair ended up working against us because Mr. Manning was able to raise a small band of men from among those assembled in the village. As I understand it, Mr. Talbot spoke to him regarding Sarah, and while he was proposing to her, the men set out to intercept us. Poor Sarah, she came home that night, thrilled and excited and so very much in love, and she found her father..." Again her voice cracked, and this time she could not hold back the tears.

Blackstone shook his head as if to indicate that she need not finish and leaned back against the headboard, drawing her with him and cradling her against his chest.

"That is why Sarah is so loyal to me," Emily whispered, her lips moving against the stiff superfine of his coat. "She saw everything. Her father betrayed her, too. In some ways, I was sorrier for her than anyone."

He tightened his arms around her and they stayed like that, silently, for a few minutes as her tears gradually subsided. His lips brushed against her hair as he murmured, "I'm sorry he left you there."

They were talking about her father now. "Of course, he couldn't have known," she managed, relieved to be able to summon her voice again. "He was already dead by this time. But it is difficult to accept that he would never listen to my earlier complaints." To her great relief, Eric did not swoop in to defend her father, though it must have been difficult for him. The last thing she wanted to do was to tear down his hero. "I know he loved me," she said, offering the words as a sort of comfort to Eric. "But sometimes..."

"Sometimes love is not enough," he finished.

She nodded, knowing he could feel the movement of her head against his chest. They sat again without talking, and her mind slowed, turning instead to the physical sensations of his presence. It would be so easy to fall asleep here, lulled by the gentle thrumming of his heart. He had begun lazily tangling his fingers in her hair. Though his chest was unyielding, resting on it was more comfortable than a pillow.

"Wait." She sat straight up. "What are you doing here? Why are you dressed?"

His lips curled in a wicked smile. "You would prefer me undressed?"

"No!" she said, though his words conjured the image of him naked, just as he'd been at the beach, his body moving over hers as the sun poured down on them. Though her night rail was modest, she crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could prevent him from seeing the tingling that had begun in her breasts. "You obviously came here for a reason, and my tale of woe derailed you. It's the middle of the night, and you're fully and formally dressed. Please tell me why."

He sighed and sagged against her headboard. "I am very tempted to lie to you, but I find I cannot."

She nodded her encouragement. "Thank you."

"I came to tell you that Manning is here."

"What?" Terror ripped through her as she shot to her feet. She moved to the window instinctively, as if she might use it to escape. It was almost as if Manning had emerged from her mind's fitful imaginings, as if her own fear had conjured him.

He followed her. "Stanway informs me that he arrived asking for me and is waiting downstairs."

"But it's the middle of the night! He was supposed to come tomorrow." What she left unsaid was, I'm not ready.

He took her hand. "Indeed, it's unexpected."

She had to think, to be rational. She snatched her hand away. "Then you have to go! You have to get down there and see what he wants!"

Undeterred, he took her hand again. "He can wait."

She sucked in a breath and tears gathered in her eyes. Standing there in the dark, lit only by the faint silver moonlight shining in the window, Eric looked so incredibly dear to her. He can wait. Had anyone ever said something like that to her? Something that meant, "I put you first." This, in its way, was more precious to her than any of the intimacies they had shared, and she would remember it all her life.

It also had the effect of calming her, snapping everything into focus. She squeezed his hand and smiled. "He has waited. And I thank you for it. I am well now. Please, there's too much riding on this. You must go meet him."

Blackstone gave a curt nod. "I will station two footmen outside your door."

"Yes," she said, though it wasn't necessary. Mr. Manning had no idea she was here. And she somehow knew that even if he did, getting to her through Eric-well, that would be simply impossible.

Before dropping her hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. It was a chaste, courtly gesture. Instead of sending sparks though her body, it created a warm pool of relief in her chest. If Mr. Manning, with his vitriol and barbarity, had opened a chasm inside her that day, Eric had filled it in with kindness. And something else she was afraid to name.

Mr. Manning could do his worst. She was no longer afraid.

As he made his way down to the drawing room where Stanway had installed Manning, Blackstone considered his options.

Murder was among them.

It was the middle of the night. No one knew Manning was here. It would be easy. And it would be right. The only thing standing in his way was that killing Manning would sever his link to Le Cafard.

Well, perhaps not the only thing. He stopped on the stairwell beneath the nameless ancestor and lifted his taper to illuminate the man's dour visage. There was another reason not to just shoot Manning in cold blood. Blackstone had killed before. On the battlefield, yes, but also in his more recent career. Twice, to be precise. It had never been easy, but each time, he had made the coldly rational decision to snuff out a life in service of a greater good. By contrast, in this situation, only a sliver of rationality remained. The practical, analytical mindset he'd used to arrive at previous decisions to kill was nowhere in evidence tonight.

No, the urge to kill Manning wasn't coming from his mind at all. His body wanted him to do it-his gut screamed at him to avenge her, and his hand craved the feeling of a whip so intensely that his arm buzzed. He knew exactly what it would feel like to slice his arm through the air and send the whip flying. The crack as it hit Manning's skin would sound like the sweetest music.

He was losing control of himself, the cool, measured spy inside receding in favor of someone else who seemed to be intent on sabotaging everything. Someone who'd pulled out this morning, spilling his seed all over Miss Mirren's stomach, wasting a prime chance to try to get her with child and force a marriage. Someone who wanted to kill Manning right now.

This was not good. He had sacked agents for making impulsive decisions, for letting their emotions rule their behavior. Sucking in a breath, he began to walk again. This was about Le Cafard. This was about a promise made years ago. He stepped through the door.

"There you are." Bailey shot him an annoyed look.

"My apologies." He nodded to Manning, bile flooding his stomach. "I was unavoidably detained."

"No apologies necessary, my lord," said Manning, bowing. Bailey took the opportunity to glare at Blackstone again. No doubt the younger man thought Blackstone was being careless with the mission. And he had been, hadn't he, nearly giving in to his wild impulses? But no more.

"Shall we dispense with the formalities?" said Blackstone as he shot a quelling look at Bailey. "Given the unconventional hour, I can only assume you have something important to say." He didn't invite the man to sit, so they all stood, Blackstone in the open doorway and the others just inside.

Manning cleared his throat. "It is I who should apologize for calling at this hour. I'd planned to be here to meet the boats, but I'm afraid I must make haste to Bristol. A ship is to set sail for America at the end of the week and a sudden problem with the cargo has developed. I need to see to the matter personally."

"Did you say boats, plural?" Bailey all but snapped.

"Ah, yes. I hadn't realized initially, but two of my smaller boats made the crossing this time in tandem."

Blackstone picked up his part. "I'm sure you can appreciate that I'm not fond of surprises, given the risk I'm taking."

"Of course. This is the nature of the business, though. Sometimes my sources in France produce more inventory than expected, and we require more capacity." Manning's gaze darted nervously between Bailey and Blackstone. "Naturally, I'll compensate you proportionally."

"And you will not be here to meet these boats, plural," Bailey said, voice frosted with sarcasm.

"I have a local foreman. He will meet the boats. You needn't do anything."

"Assuming everything goes smoothly," Bailey reminded him. Blackstone saw no need to intervene. Bailey seemed to be handling the situation, and the less he had to speak to Emily's ex-guardian, the better.

"There's no reason to believe it will not," said Manning.

"But you asked his lordship to be here in case anything went wrong," said Bailey pointedly.

Manning looked at Blackstone, as if seeking a reprieve. You'll not see any mercy from me. Blackstone responded by glancing back at Bailey, as if to signal that Bailey was empowered to speak for him. He couldn't murder Manning, but he could make him squirm.

"Suppose one of the boats is discovered in his lordship's cove," said Bailey.