"My God," Bailey whispered. "Is it going to be this easy?"

The man slogged through the water, head bowed. Judging by his greatcoat and top hat, he could be any English gentleman-which only ratcheted Blackstone's anticipation up to greater heights. Surely a spy as slippery and talented as Le Cafard would chose his attire carefully so that he would look like any English gentleman.

As the man crossed the last few yards to the cove, he looked up. "I wager you're surprised to see me."

Disappointment ripped through his chest. Damn! He'd been so sure.

"Next time," whispered Bailey.

"Mr. Talbot," said Blackstone, not even bothering to stifle a resigned sigh. "You're right, we weren't expecting you."

"No one was." He shook water off his legs. "I was on the continent trying to establish a new source to meet our demand for brandy. Our former supplier recently met with an...untimely end."

It made sense, Blackstone supposed. Talbot hadn't been at the card game Bailey attended with Manning. But it rankled that Manning hadn't even seen fit to mention that his son-in-law was abroad.

"Negotiations went well. My father-in-law will be surprised to see me back so soon." Talbot looked around. "Is he here?"

"No," said Blackstone. "He had urgent business in Bristol."

In the process of looking for Manning, Talbot's attention caught on something in the distance. He narrowed his eyes and his face changed. "Poorly done, Blackstone. If you haven't some explanation for this-some explanation that involves you having obtained a special license while I was gone-I'll see you at dawn."

The man's vitriol was sudden-and real. But how could he know about Emily? Was he even talking about Emily? Bewildered, Blackstone looked to Bailey, who nodded at a protrusion in the wall of the cove, a good thirty yards away. He watched an arm-no doubt Catharine's-pull a familiar head of curls out of view.

"Miss Mirren is like a sister to me," Talbot said.

"Mrs. Burnham, Miss Mirren! Please join us," Bailey called, before turning to Blackstone "I think we'd better tell him the truth."

Blackstone almost laughed. The truth? Your unmarried quasi-sister-in-law is here under the shaky chaperonage of an almost fallen woman because she and I have formed an alliance against your wife's father? Oh, and also? I've ruined her.

"It's about a school," Bailey went on. "Mr. Manning won't be pleased about it, but perhaps Mr. Talbot can be trusted to take a more liberated view of the matter."

Ah! The old school story! "I'm beginning to have my own doubts, truth be told," said Blackstone, picking up the lie. "The idea was sound, but the pair of them!" He shook his head. "They're like naughty schoolgirls." Turning to Talbot, he said, "Mrs. Burnham, I can almost understand-she does have a reputation. But was Miss Mirren always like this?"

Talbot tracked Emily's progress as the women approached. If he noticed they both had wet hair, he didn't remark on it. "She's always been independent-minded."

Blackstone watched Catharine note Mr. Talbot's presence. "Blackstone!" she exclaimed theatrically. "Are you a smuggler? How exciting!"

"I can't pretend to be pleased to see you here," Blackstone ground out, and though he was performing for Talbot, it was not a lie.

"We were out for an evening walk, and we heard voices." Catharine's innocent expression could have landed her a job treading the boards.

"As you can see, ladies," Blackstone said, "Mr. Talbot has seen fit to join us this evening. I'm afraid we've no choice but to tell him about the school."

"It was my fault, Mr. Talbot!" said Catharine, stepping between him and Emily as she smiled brilliantly. "It was my idea."

Catharine weaved an improbable tale of bringing a branch of her school to Clareford Manor. Emily was no slouch, either. She bowed her head in mock chagrin at the appropriate times and interjected the occasional indignant correction. He could almost believe the unlikely story himself. It was easy to imagine her turning her crusading heart toward the cause of educating the pauper children of Essex.

Blackstone glared at the women, his irritation unmanufactured. "The question remains, why are you here now? We're here at the estate to investigate the possibility of the school, but you're supposed to be back at the house now, fast asleep."

He must have been convincing because Talbot moved between him and the women, even as they unleashed a string of apologies. When Talbot held up a hand, they fell silent.

"Miss Mirren," Talbot said, looking at Emily. "Do you know what I'm doing here?"

Blackstone recognized the flash of panic in her eyes. She didn't know how to answer. But before she had to, Talbot spoke again. "No. The answer is no. You don't know what I'm doing here. You never even saw me here. Just like I never saw you here."

She nodded, eyes wide.

"I'm not an idiot, Miss Mirren. I know you have radical tendencies. I might even share some of them myself, were the situation different. As it stands, though, I have responsibilities. I know you can't approve of any of this, just like I can't approve of Sarah's closest friend being here with these..." He glanced back to Blackstone and Bailey and finally said, "Gentleman," though the slow drawl he used to extend the word suggested he thought they were anything but. "The best way forward is for me to keep your secret and you to keep mine. Are we agreed?"

"Yes," she said. "We will keep each other's secrets."

"That was a near miss," Catharine whispered to Emily as the group set out toward the house. Her friend seemed exhilarated by the events of the evening, but Emily just felt sick. Knowing they might have endangered the mission made her ashamed. They had been reckless. Just because Manning himself wasn't present didn't mean they needed to take unnecessary risks.

Her primary concern at the moment was avoiding Eric. He would be angry, and rightfully so. She kept her eyes on him as he walked ahead with the men. Of course, she would eventually have to face his displeasure, but a night of sleep would cool everyone's tempers. She owed him an apology, but she hoped she wouldn't have to deliver it until tomorrow.

Eric's long strides set the pace for the men. He had a way of subtly controlling the people around him. He had been magnificent back there, striking just the right emotional tone to make Mr. Talbot believe his story. It was easy to see why he'd been so successful in his chosen profession-he was tuned into nuance and sensitive to the slightest emotional shifts. The more she got to know him, the more it hurt to think of him as a boy, alone on this big estate, painfully aware of his mother's indifference.

"Perhaps I should get back into spying," said Catharine. "That was the most fun I've had in ages."

Before Emily could hush Catharine, Eric fell back from the men. Her heart skittered as he turned and stopped, waiting for them to catch up. His eyes found hers and stuck there. It was impossible to gauge his mood. The intensity of his gaze was like a physical burden, one that made continuing to place one foot in front of the other increasingly difficult.

Though Emily couldn't tear her eyes from Eric's, she felt Catharine look between her and Eric. "Oh, my."

Only then did Eric shift his attention to Catharine. Expressionless, he extended an arm. "Mrs. Burnham, may I have a word?" Another of his questions that wasn't really a question.

Without another glance at Emily, he led Catharine ahead. "This was your idea, wasn't it?" she heard him say. It seemed Emily had earned a reprieve, though the fierceness of his long, fixed stare just now assured her it was only a temporary one.

As the pair caught up to the other men, Mr. Talbot glanced back. Seeing Emily alone, he doubled back and fell into step beside her. She didn't know what to make of him. What had he meant when he'd said he might share her radical tendencies had the situation been different? She sneaked a glance at him, trying to think what she knew about his life before marrying Sarah. He'd been one of several of Sarah's beaux, and then, when Sarah accepted his suit at the village fair that awful night, Emily had thought of him briefly as the mechanism of her salvation. With Sarah married and out of harm's way, she could leave Somerset and unleash her plan to bring about Mr. Manning's downfall.

"Miss Mirren?" said Mr. Talbot. He spoke quietly, hesitantly. He was so average looking. An unremarkable man in every way-brown hair, brown eyes, medium build. "May I confess something?"

"By all means." What an unusual night this was turning out to be.

"You will recall that I worked as a barrister before I married Sarah."

"Mmm," said Emily, who didn't quite remember-he really had been the least memorable of the men vying for Sarah's attention. Emily had always assumed her friend chose him because of his superior ability to listen to her talk.

"My aunt paid for me to study at the Inns of Court. If she had not, I might have ended up the sort of boy who would need to attend your school." This last bit he spoke extremely rapidly, as if willing the words to tumble out as fast as possible.

"Indeed?" She could not hide her surprise. Perhaps she should have paid more attention as Sarah mooned over her betrothed.

"When my parents died, my mother's sister was my only relation. She was well to do, but had been estranged from my mother. The details are not important, but before it was all sorted out that I should go to live with her, I faced the prospect of being turned out onto the streets. The vicar had begun seeking a parish apprenticeship for me."

Emily was shocked. "Parish apprentices have horrible lives-that's what Mrs. Burnham is trying to change, with her school."

"I know." He bowed his head, and they walked on in silence for few moments. "I tell you this because I want you to know that I am not indifferent to human suffering."

Was he making a roundabout reference to the slave trade? She had to tread carefully. "There are so many ways we humans inflict pain upon one another, are there not? It can be difficult to know where to begin trying to ameliorate it."

He nodded without looking at her as they continued to walk. "When I am in charge of Manning Shipping, things will be different," he whispered.

"I'm glad," Emily said carefully, but beneath her noncommittal reply, her mind raced.

Suddenly, he stopped and turned to face her, eyes a little wild. His chest rose as he sucked in a great breath. "If my father-in-law has gone to Bristol suddenly, it's for a very specific reason-a ship bound for America."

"I understand the company does quite well exporting clothing and textiles, and bringing back raw cotton." Picked by slaves, she refrained from adding.

He nodded vigorously. "Yes. That route is well established. It practically runs itself." He took another deep breath, as if fortifying himself for a great exertion. "If Mr. Manning has gone there, it's because of a very specific piece of cargo he wants to oversee himself. To make sure it gets aboard-and stays aboard. To make sure it leaves England. To make sure he leaves England."

Oh, dear God. "You can't mean..."

"Yes. That poor bastard he beat that night." His eyes narrowed. "He's bought him back, and he's sending him to America. I'll never forgive him for ruining what should have been a joyous occasion for my Sarah and me."

Emily held herself back from remarking that a marred engagement hardly signified when two humans had been whipped like so many cattle, and one had been torn from his home and sold. But it was more important to focus on the astonishing revelation that she had an ally. And he had been under her nose all this time.

More importantly, she knew where Billy was right now.

Clamping her hand down on his forearm so hard that he winced, she said, "I must go to Bristol. I must go now!" Hearing the desperation in her voice, she forced herself to relax her grip. Telling her about Billy was one thing. Helping her rescue a captive aboard a ship bound for America was quite another, especially when it would mean defying the man who held the reins of the company he stood to inherit. There was no reason to believe he would help her.

But she had to try. They were almost at the house, and as they stepped into the circle of light cast by torches the servants had lit, she said, "Please, Mr. Talbot, will you take me?"

He looked straight ahead, and for a moment she thought he wasn't even going to acknowledge her question. Then she watched, fascinated, as a shadow passed over his face. She recognized that emotion. It was hatred-and it took her breath away.

Without turning to her, he said, "Yes."

Chapter Nineteen.

Blackstone spent much of the night waiting for Emily in the library, confident she would seek him out after the house settled. She would want to discuss every aspect of Mr. Talbot's unexpected appearance and analyze its possible impact on their twin missions. He almost laughed. There was no way she'd let herself be sidelined in this. And perhaps she would even have some insight he hadn't considered.

Poking at the dying fire, he pulled out his timepiece. Nearly four o'clock. Perhaps she was afraid to come. No doubt she knew he'd been angry to see her at the cove. Indeed, he'd imagined coming home, giving her a sound dressing down and locking her in his house from now until...forever. But now that several hours had passed, he was thinking more calmly. He remembered the look in her eyes. She'd been mortified at the idea that she might have endangered the mission. She didn't need any additional censure from him.

No, it wasn't that he had to talk to Emily about anything in particular. He wanted to talk to her. The admission was bitter medicine. He dropped the book he'd been trying to read-he'd procured his own copy of Clarkson's antislavery tome-on a side table with a little more vehemence than he'd intended. He wanted her to know he was reading her goddamned book.

Unable to sit still any longer, he slipped out onto the terrace. The sky was beginning to lighten. He moved to the balustrade and leaned over as far as he could, craning his neck to try to see the top-floor bedrooms. He counted four windows in from the edge.

It was dark. She was asleep. Like normal people were at this hour.

It was just as well. Le Cafard might be on the next boat, and Blackstone didn't need the distraction.

"I'm sorry this conveyance is so rough," Mr. Talbot said as they lurched along a rutted dirt road. "It's all I could get, but we'll be able to hire a coach in Maldon."

"It's quite all right," said Emily, and she meant it. She would have walked to Bristol if necessary. "I'm just so enormously grateful to you for escorting me, Mr. Talbot."

She was also grateful for the rough-hewn cart Mr. Talbot had somehow managed to procure. It required his full attention to commandeer, affording her a chance to be alone with her thoughts. There was still a great deal she wanted to work out, starting with how much she should tell him. So far, he assumed her only ambition was to rescue Billy. She could hardly admit that she planned to ruin Mr. Manning. To do so would ruin Manning Shipping, too. And in truth, she hadn't fully considered how doing that would affect Sarah and her husband. Everything was all mixed up in her mind.

The silence also gave Emily a chance to examine her conspirator. She was beginning to understand what Sarah had seen in him all this time. Beneath the unassuming exterior, Mr. Talbot had a passionate nature. It had been very much in evidence as they'd plotted their secret flight from Clareford Manor, and even now, as he glanced at her from time to time as he spurred the horse onward, she saw it simmering. It was all rather astonishing.

When they disembarked at a posting inn in Maldon to wait for a coach to be readied, Mr. Talbot ordered her a mug of ale and a meat pie. "Mr. Talbot," she said, after he had tucked into his plate, "I know the journey will be long, and there's plenty of time to discuss this, but may I ask how you think we might, ah, extract Billy from the ship without..."

"Without Mr. Manning noticing?"

"Yes," she said, a little surprised he was willing to speak so openly.

"The men know me. Mr. Manning won't expect to see me, of course-he thinks I'm still in France-but the men won't question my presence. We'll merely watch the ship, and when Mr. Manning isn't on it, I'll retrieve Billy. I'll smuggle him out in a crate if need be."

"Why is Mr. Manning sending Billy to America?" she asked.

Mr. Talbot shrugged. "Mr. Manning spends a great deal of time and energy hating Billy Smith. He was, of course, upset when the trade was abolished, and I think perhaps he's taken it out on Billy. He's been talking recently about sending him to America on the next ship. I could be wrong, but I can only assume his sudden flight to Bristol means he wanted to see the man off with his own eyes." He pushed his plate away. "Mr. Manning will be apoplectic when he discovers Billy is gone-but he won't know how it happened." He tipped his head back and drained the remainder of his ale. "I assume that you can do the rest, that you can make arrangements for him? My involvement cannot come to light."

"Yes!" Emily exclaimed. "Thank you!"

She'd been planning to say more, to offer thanks, but he pushed back from the table. "We have to keep up a punishing pace if we want to arrive before the ship sails."

As he settled her in the coach, she was visited, for the first time, by a twinge of doubt. The new team of four would transport them out of Essex very quickly. "I should have awakened Lord Blackstone," she said.

"No!" said Mr. Talbot, forcefully enough that she startled. He smiled a little sheepishly and gentled his voice. "I don't mean to be harsh, but I've told you that no one can know what I'm doing. I will inherit Manning Shipping, and I won't do anything to jeopardize that. I understand that what we're doing is right, but I want you to know that when it comes down to it, I'll choose my future company over what's right. I'm not proud of that, but there you have it. I have Sarah to consider, and God willing, our future children."

Emily nodded. She could respect that. But she did wish she could have explained the situation to Eric last night, for she had no doubt he would have helped them. She began to fret, though, about the note she'd left. The last thing they needed, given Mr. Talbot's speech just now, was the Earl of Blackstone coming after them.

"You look dissatisfied, Miss Mirren. I'm sorry my ideals aren't as sterling as yours."

"No!" she said quickly. "It's not that!"

"Then what is it?"

"Why are you doing this?" she blurted. It was the question that underlay everything. He had a reformer's heart, perhaps, but he'd just said the company was the most important thing to him. It didn't make sense.

A momentary fear flared that she had scared him off by speaking so boldly, that he might change his mind. But his face was blank, almost as if he hadn't heard her. He turned and stared out the window. Just as she was about to resign herself to the fact that he wasn't going to answer, his face changed. It happened slowly, like the sun coming up over the horizon. A sunrise, though, would have brought light with it. Here, there was only darkness-the slow creeping of a shadow that twisted his features in a way that almost frightened her.

Speaking to the passing scenery, he said, "Because I hate him. More than anything, I hate him."

Emily knew the feeling. She'd just never realized anyone else shared it.

Blackstone and Bailey were the only ones up when the Emily's maid came crashing into the breakfast room.