Blackstone waited a few moments, enjoying seeing Manning shift from one foot to the other. Then he affected his best lazy pose, leaning against the doorway. "What is this urgent business in Bristol, Manning? Can't it wait a few days?"

"I'm afraid it cannot. It is of a personal nature."

"Then call off the boats," said Bailey, an excellent bluffer.

"I can't!" protested Manning.

"I think what Mr. Bailey is trying to say," said Blackstone, "is that this is going to cost more."

"Yes," said Manning, sensing his out. "Of course."

After a few beats of silence, Blackstone pushed off the doorframe and said, "Hadn't you better be going, then? Bristol awaits." It was all Blackstone could do not to spit on Manning as he backed out the door. This is the last time you walk away from me. The last time.

"How will we know when the boats are here?" Bailey asked, following Manning out into the foyer.

"My foreman will alert you," he heard Manning say. "The ships will lower cutters that will move the cargo ashore." The two men exchanged a few more words that Blackstone didn't bother trying to hear. He walked into the room instead. Someone had laid a fire. Suddenly cold, he sank into a chair in front of the hearth. When he heard Bailey return, pulling his eyes from the flames required gargantuan effort.

"It's just as well." Bailey yawned and lowered himself into the chair next to Blackstone. "In a way, it's preferable. Not having him here means he won't be watching us. He won't notice our undue interest in what's aboard his crafts."

"Our undue interest in who is aboard," Blackstone corrected.

"Yes," said Bailey, "if we're lucky."

Blackstone forced himself to stand and moved to the bellpull. Stanway appeared in less than ten seconds. "Stan, fetch Miss Mirren. Tell her Mr. Manning has left the premises. No, tell her he's left the county, and ask her to come." The butler nodded. "Oh, and Stan? I'd appreciate if you'd do it yourself. Don't send a maid. And get Mrs. Burnham, too."

"Of course, sir."

Bailey waited until Stanway left before lifting a quizzical brow. "Is that wise?"

"What?"

"What happened to 'Only those who need to know?' Catharine, all right, she's been tested, and she can probably help. But Miss Mirren?"

"She needs to know. She's part of this now."

Chapter Eighteen.

The next day, Emily and Catharine, having promised Eric they wouldn't go anywhere near the ocean, laid a luncheon picnic near the inland lake.

"I wish I knew how to swim," Catharine said, dipping her toes in the water.

Emily let her legs dangle over the other side of the dock. "I could teach you."

Catharine looked over her shoulder. "You, my dear, are endlessly surprising."

"This is a good lake to learn in because it's remarkably free of weeds."

"You've swum in this lake?" Catharine pulled her legs out of the water and came to Emily's side of the dock.

The urge to confess everything was overwhelming. She had the idea this was what women friends did-told each other their secrets. It had been an enormous relief to tell Eric about Mr. Manning and about her father, but of course she couldn't tell him everything. She almost laughed as she conjured the image of talking to the earl about...himself. You have a very attractive chest, your lordship. Being clasped to it makes my insides feel all squishy.

"What's so funny?" demanded Catharine. "You're keeping secrets, and I must know what they are!"

Emily covered her face with her hands and took the plunge. "I swam in this lake with Lord Blackstone."

"What?" Emily would never have characterized Catharine as a shrieker, but she nearly had to remove her hands from her face and use them to cover her ears when Catharine followed up with an earsplitting, "When?"

"At the house party last month." She spread her fingers and peeked out.

"Oh my God! If he debauched you, I will personally-"

"He didn't debauch me!" Emily protested. At least not that time. "If there was any debauching going on that night-which there wasn't-I would have been, the, uh..."

"Debaucher?" Catharine grinned, which went long way toward soothing Emily's nerves.

"I don't want to get married," Emily explained quickly, wanting to put the confession into perspective.

"This is why you were asking about mistresses?"

Emily nodded. "I just wanted a little experience."

Catharine sighed. "I suppose you picked the perfect man. He'll be the model of discretion. But do you know how to prevent a child? Do you even know how it works?"

Emily's cheeks heated. "Yes, I have, ah, read some materials on the subject."

"God knows-"

"Anyway," Emily raised her voice to interrupt, "the point is, I have swum in this lake before, which is why I can attest to the fact that it is the perfect lake in which to learn. I'll help you!" She willed Catharine to accept the change of subject.

Catharine said no more, but pursed her lips as if to signal that the topic would not be dropped permanently. "When do we do this?" she asked. "I'm not submerging myself in this water when just anyone can walk by and watch me make a fool of myself."

"You'll want to swim in just your shift-a dress will drag you down, especially when you're first learning, so the dark is best. We can go tonight, after we retire."

Catharine smiled. "I do love an adventure."

After they dried their feet and packed the remains of their lunch, Emily said quietly, "You won't tell anyone? About what I've said, I mean."

Catharine looked up from lacing up her boots. Her eyebrows shot up, as if she were shocked by the notion. "Of course not! What kind of friend would I be if I broke your confidence about such a private matter?" She stuck out a hand. "Help me up."

Emily did, grinning. As they walked toward the house, Catharine kept Emily's hand, swinging their arms back and forth as if they were girls. As if they were friends.

Blackstone and Bailey were sitting on the terrace watching the moon rise when a note arrived summoning them to the beach.

"Please tell me we can leave the ladies out of this," said Bailey.

"Of course, we won't awaken them," said Blackstone.

"Good. I thought perhaps with all this, 'She's part of this now' business, you might insist-"

"She is part of this, and I intend to keep her informed, but that doesn't mean she needs to be tromping through the night to intercept one of most dangerous men in the world." Blackstone suppressed a shudder.

He moved to the door, but Bailey remained where he was.

"Are you in love with her?" Bailey asked quietly.

The question hit him like a punch to the gut. "Of course not," he managed after a few beats of silence.

"Because you're allowed to be, you know."

"Now is not the time to discuss this," Blackstone snapped. "Le Cafard awaits." He strode from the house, inexplicably angry, not caring whether Bailey followed.

Swimming under cover of night with Catharine was a lot less disquieting than doing so with Eric. As Catharine floated on her back, growing accustomed to the buoyancy of the water, Emily supported her, hands under her back.

The darkness must have made it easier to talk, because Catharine spun the most amazing tale of having worked on a mission with Eric-by posing as a courtesan. The unexpected twist had been to meet James, the reformer who became her husband.

"To think," Emily marveled when her friend finished the improbable tale, "you were a spy!"

"It's not as glamorous as it sounds," Catharine said, kicking her legs gently.

"That's what everyone keeps saying."

"Everyone?"

Emily ignored the insinuation. "It must be very hard to work for Lord Blackstone." After it was out, she realized how lame the statement sounded. It was apparent that she was looking for an excuse to talk about him.

But Catharine seemed ready to indulge her. "It was indeed! He's very...cold." She chuckled a little. "Or at least he used to be."

The darkness made her brave. "You and Mr. Burnham-you have a love match."

Catharine smiled. "Yes."

"How did you know?" she asked. "That he was the one, I mean?"

"It's a good question," Catharine said. "I found him very unsettling."

Emily laughed. "Unsettling? In novels, it's always like meeting the other half of your soul. You're supposed to know at first sight."

"It wasn't like that at all! It was all very uncomfortable," said Catharine thoughtfully. "I'd built my whole identity around being the kind of woman who didn't get attached, who was unmoved by sentiment. I had a certain narrative about myself, you see, and I believed in it. And James upended everything." She laughed.

Emily felt a little stab of envy, but she shoved it aside. "You're doing splendidly. I think you should turn over and add some arm movements." Catharine righted herself and took hold of one of the dock's posts as Emily demonstrated, propelling herself forward with an easy breaststroke.

When she returned to the dock, Catharine said, "Do you love him?"

Emily blinked, paralyzed by the question. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, she said, "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to marry."

Catharine opened her mouth just as they heard the sound of twigs snapping. The water magnified the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

"Under the dock!" said Emily, and they moved beneath its shelter. Huddling together, they listened to the crunching of gravel under feet-feet that were getting closer.

"You have to prepare yourself for the possibility that he won't be on one of these boats. It's a needle in a haystack."

It was Mr. Bailey. Catharine's face relaxed.

"We've been through so many haystacks already." Eric. Just hearing his voice sped up Emily's pulse. "It may not be this one, I grant you, but if not, it's just a matter of waiting for him."

Emily prayed the men would not notice their discarded clothing. It seemed impossible that the sound of her heart, which thundered in her own ears, would not give them away. But the voices grew quieter as the men retreated.

Catharine grabbed Emily's hand. "We should sneak down to the shore."

"We can't!"

Ignoring Emily's protest, Catharine pulled herself up the ladder and began donning her dress.

Emily scrambled up after her. "What are you doing?"

"This is the most excitement I've had in a long time," said Catharine, turning her back to Emily in an unspoken request to button up her dress. "Everyone thinks being a reformer is so scandalous, but I tell you, it's appallingly sedate."

"You can't be thinking of going down to the cove!"

"I am thinking of exactly that. We can watch from afar." Catharine knelt and laced up one of Emily's boots.

She could not deny that the prospect was exciting. Without Manning here, there was nothing to fear. And once they'd exposed Manning, she would have to go back to her dull, respectable life in town. She'd already been intimate with a gentleman. What was one more adventure before she went back to her books?

As they made their way down to the cove, Blackstone tried to prepare himself for the possibility that there would be nothing but brandy and silk aboard these first boats.

As they picked their way along the path, he could see Manning's men lined up along the shore. A few torches lent the scene an otherworldly effect as they threw odd patterns of shadows on the rocky walls of the cove. Some of the men were unloading cutters that had already come ashore.

The foreman walked over to greet them. "One boat has arrived. The other was delayed in port. We expect it tomorrow."

Blackstone registered Bailey's sigh of displeasure and followed the foreman's gaze out to sea. It took a moment to make out two more cutters, which were not lit. The ship itself must be farther out, but it was too dark to see. He thought back to his one trip to France. When he'd been captured by Le Cafard's men, he'd pleaded for them to turn him over to their master. All he'd wanted was to look his enemy in the eye. But his tormenter had been away from Paris-and now he was glad. If Le Cafard was on this boat, Blackstone would simply be the English aristocrat who had sold a piece of his soul for money. Because the Frenchman wouldn't recognize him, he could be here personally to watch the bastard walk into his trap.

The last cutter bumped up against the rocks. Two of Manning's men waded out to meet it, and a sailor hopped off. Together, the three men guided the craft in as close as they could. Silently, Manning's men formed a line and began unloading crates, passing them from one man to another.

Blackstone glanced at Bailey briefly before returning his attention to the cutter. Just as he was about to resign himself to the fact that it bore only goods, a figure emerged from behind the line of men.