Blackstone had allowed himself to hope that the spy would prize his own freedom above all, scurrying off once more, an insect blending into the dirty, chaotic docks. He had come to peace with the idea of giving up the fight, but he could see that his enemy had not. Hatred glittered in the man's eyes-pure, unadulterated hatred.

Blackstone used his peripheral vision to assess the scene. They were not alone in the cramped room. Billy sat in one corner, a few feet away, hands bound behind him and legs tied together. Like Emily, he was silent, and like her, his eyes reflected a heart-wrenching mixture of anger, pain, and regret.

It took Le Cafard's sneering interruption for Blackstone to realize that though he'd meant only to glance at Billy, he'd been drawn in, caught openly staring.

"Is he worth it?" the spy jeered.

Blackstone's attention shot back to Emily, to the spot on her beautiful neck where the bastard's blade rested. Le Cafard held her as a shield, her body flush against his own, and he rested his face against hers, his rough whiskers an affront to her pale, smooth skin. She didn't wince overtly, but Blackstone sensed her emotional recoil.

"Your little doxy here seems to think so. It positively boggles the mind."

Blackstone took a small step forward, skin prickling.

"If you make another move, I will kill her."

He couldn't help it. The lunge that followed was involuntary, and echoed by Billy, who struggled forward, even in his seated position.

"I will kill her!" This time Emily flinched as the blade nicked her skin. "Step back!"

Blackstone obeyed, feeling the knife in his own gut, twisting hard and deep. Le Cafard had control. There was no way Blackstone could reach for his gun without the man reacting. Even if he could, it would be impossible to ensure he'd hit the Frenchman and not Emily.

He raised his hands. "It's me you want. Let her go. Let both of them go." Billy cleared his throat as Blackstone spoke, drawing his attention. His heart jumped, buoyed by a sudden, violent wave of hope. Billy had his body angled slightly, turning just enough so that Blackstone could see his back. His hands were clasped behind him, but they were no longer tied together. One of them held a splinter of wood that he must have been using as a saw, because the rope that had bound his wrists now hung in ragged tatters. From his angle, Billy might be able to shoot Le Cafard in the legs without endangering Emily.

Blackstone made a show of backing up, arms still held high, but he listed a few steps toward Billy as he did so. "How did you know about me?" he asked, hoping to distract the spy.

"A happy coincidence. Imagine my delight when you started sniffing around my father-in-law."

"But how did you know I was anything other than a run-of-the-mill English aristocrat?"

"You will no doubt remember your recent sojourn in Paris." He grinned. "I was so sorry to have missed your visit. One of my men-one of the ones who made sure your stay was...exciting-works as a sailor for Manning now. My people are everywhere. It was easy for him to identify you." Letting loose a cackle, he shrugged theatrically. "After that, I didn't even have to do anything. You invited me to your lovely home. Which I proceeded to turn upside down."

"You didn't find anything."

"That's right. Clareford was clean. I should have killed you then. I knew you were getting close. But, oh, the prospect of using your cove to make my crossings-right under your nose! It was too delicious to imagine you the unwitting agent of your country's demise."

"It's always been about us, hasn't it?" As he spoke, Blackstone extended his leg toward Billy. "Let them go, and you win."

"Ah, ma douce ennemie," Le Cafard said, almost crooning. "So long we have hated each other. So long I have dreamed of this moment, the moment I break you."

"It's here," Blackstone whispered, as an eerie calm washed over him. "Let them go, and your moment is here."

"Ah, but there's where you're wrong. I always imagined the end being the day I killed you. But that was before her." Le Cafard turned his eyes to Emily for a moment, looking at her almost adoringly. Blackstone seized the chance to capture Billy's attention. Jerking his head down at his boot, he lifted his leg a few inches off the ground.

"Now that I know about her, I see I was wrong. The end isn't when I kill you. No, that's too easy, too clean. The end is when I utterly annihilate you-when I unman you. I was going to send her off to the wilds of America and enjoy watching you lose your mind slowly. But now that you're here, and we're at, shall we say, an impasse, I think the answer is to compromise. I'll kill her, and you'll watch her die."

"You're forgetting the inconvenient fact that if you kill her, I'll kill you," Blackstone said, trying to draw Le Cafard's attention away from Billy as he felt the pistol being slid from his boot. "A savvier man would bargain her life in exchange for his freedom."

"Yes, but alas, we French are tragically attracted to beauty. And the beauty of seeing you ruined, if only for a breath, is too compelling. Imagine it, my friend. Imagine that exquisite moment. I will kill her, and in the instant that follows, before our lifeless bodies fall, united in death as we have been in life, I will see you break. And I will win."

The crack of the pistol came then, the stark punctuation to Le Cafard's declaration. Exactly as Blackstone had hoped, Billy hit the spy in the foot. Blackstone scrambled for the gun in his waistband, and Emily, not missing a beat, grabbed the knife out of Le Cafard's hand and plunged it into his shoulder as he crumpled to the ground.

"Get away from him," he shouted, curling his finger on the trigger. He had but one shot, and he planned to use it well.

"Wait! You don't have to shoot him," she said, eyes filling with tears.

Those eyes. It was as if they had the power to let the air out of him. He heard it hissing out of his lungs, and a strange, heavy sense of relief flooded his limbs. A years-long grudge was melting away, leaving him weak from the effort of having carried it for so long.

"Revenge is not the same as freedom," she whispered.

He looked down at his hands, his attention drawn by someone tugging at them. A chocolate-colored hand nudged the gun out of his grip. He let it go without protest. Billy aimed the gun at Le Cafard's head. Then he turned back to Blackstone and nodded. He seemed to be reassuring him, demonstrating that he would stand guard.

"Revenge is not the same as freedom," he said, echoing Emily's words, letting the pure, elemental truth of them sink in.

"Yes," she said. "We both needed to learn that, didn't we?"

He opened his arms and she stepped into them.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Emily wondered if there were ever a circumstance in which it was permissible for a lady to propose marriage to a gentleman. If so, it probably wasn't when the gentleman in question was forcing an enemy of the Crown off a ship with the help of an about-to-be-illegally-transported slave.

Perhaps also not when he was arranging surgical care for his mortal enemy and ensuring that charges were laid by the local authorities. Or when he was overseeing the incarceration of one's own long-time enemy and ex-guardian.

"Do you want to see Manning?" Eric asked that evening, after the day's chaos had subsided. He spoke to both Billy and Emily as they dined in a private parlor back at the inn. "I can take you if you do."

Emily glanced at Billy, whose face betrayed nothing. "Is he very upset?"

The earl did not mince words. "Yes."

"The truth is, I do not want to see him, but I'm not sure that's the correct choice. I don't want to see him because I'm afraid. It seems weak not to face him."

"No," said Billy. "Being afraid isn't weak. Letting your fear paralyze you is-and you never did that. My God, you risked everything going up against him for me."

She'd expected to feel more triumphant once Manning was in custody. Instead, there was just this anguished indecisiveness. She hated that she still feared him.

"Revenge is not the same as freedom," Eric said softly. "A wise woman taught me that. There's no need to see him. Perhaps the strong thing is merely to walk away." He turned to Billy, and then back to Emily. "Leave him behind and walk toward freedom."

Though they were sitting, Eric extended his hand, as if he were inviting her to take it and actually walk away. Tears prickling, Emily nodded.

"Though perhaps walk is not the right word," he said, quirking a smile. "Tomorrow we shall begin a long, tedious, bumpy carriage ride toward freedom."

A two-day journey, then. That would seem the perfect opportunity for a lady to propose marriage to a gentleman. But the truth was, once they were underway, she lost her nerve. Eric had been so kind at the inn, showing her that she needn't confront Mr. Manning. It reminded her how much care he had always taken with her. And why she'd refused his suit. He'd proposed because he felt responsible for her. To make him feel responsible forever was too much to ask, especially given her sense that he'd found a measure of freedom of his own back on that boat. She couldn't be the one to make him give it up.

Besides, he'd been utterly proper at every turn, bowing when greeting her or taking his leave. Conducting himself with an air of formality, he addressed her as Miss Mirren and Billy as Mr. Smith.

Billy. Every time she looked at him she was flooded with a complicated mixture of love, relief, and sorrow. To Emily's surprise, Billy and Eric developed an almost instant camaraderie. The silent brand of communication that had carried them through the confrontation with Le Cafard continued that day as the men worked together to restrain the spy and locate Manning. By the time they had all settled into the earl's carriage for the journey to London, everyone was speaking quite openly, if formally. Billy and Emily filled each other in on their years apart. They spoke of abolitionist politics and the wars.

Life, it seemed, was going to work out exactly as she had always hoped. Manning was out of business, and she had Billy back. Even Eric, she suspected, would be able to lay down some of his burdens now that Le Cafard had finally been captured.

Happy ever after for everyone.

Then why did she feel like her heart was breaking?

Blackstone was not surprised when, after he'd retired to his room at the posting inn the first night on the trip back to London, he answered a knock on his door to find Mr. Smith standing in the corridor.

Billy Smith was proving to be a most remarkable man. How could someone who had been so grossly mistreated for so long have such a friendly, open manner? It boggled the mind. Still, he'd wondered when he was going to be called to account. Silently, he motioned the man in.

Mr. Smith stepped into the room's small sitting area and fingered the book Blackstone had left on the side table-he was still working his way through Clarkson. "Interesting choice."

"You've read it?" Blackstone feared he had not adequately hidden his surprise.

"She taught me, when we were young." After a beat, Mr. Smith cracked a smile.

"I don't doubt it." Blackstone smiled in return. "Shall I send downstairs for a drink?"

His visitor's smile disappeared. "I'd rather get straight to the point."

"By all means."

"I am, of course, exceedingly grateful for all you've done-both for me and for Emily. I want to make that clear. I haven't thanked you properly."

Blackstone made a dismissive gesture.

"But if you do anything to hurt her, I will kill you." Blackstone looked up sharply. "And there won't be any of this pistols at dawn nonsense. I'm not a gentleman. I'll just kill you in your sleep."

Then, as if he hadn't just issued a chilling death threat, Mr. Smith stood. "If I've made myself clear, I'll take my leave."

Blackstone nodded-what else was there to do? "You've made yourself abundantly clear."

Her first thought was that Manning had found her. As Emily struggled awake, tangling in her bedclothes, she tried to scream, but the hand that clamped over her mouth prevented it.

"It's me. It's only me."

Relief flooded through her, followed by a sharp stab of desire. He was as arresting as ever, moonlight gilding the planes of this face. It sharpened, rather than softened them, but the effect made it impossible to look away. As he stood amidst her familiar things, she could almost pretend he belonged here, that he belonged to her.

She pulled her covers up to her chin. "Don't you ever knock?"

"I'm sorry to frighten you. There was no other way to get to you."

"The front door is generally how it's done." She could not resist teasing, even as her traitorous body signaled the seriousness of the situation with its intense yearning.

"I did use the front door. He grinned-he was so free with his smiles now, she could hardly believe he was the same man who had snarled at her just weeks ago. "It's better than the tree, is it not?"

"What do you mean? You just walked right in?"

He ignored her question. "Logically speaking, I think your quibble isn't with my mode of access, it's with the particular timing of my visit."

"Logically speaking..." She opened her mouth to protest but realized she had no argument. "I think you're right."

The grin grew even wider. "There's a reason for the unconventional timing. The only time we can go where we need to go is the middle of the night."

"Are you on another mission? Because I'm not as bold as Catharine. I can't just-"

"I have everything we need. All you have to do is get dressed." He moved to the corner of the room. "I'll close my eyes." Then he opened one, a reverse wink. "Unless you'd rather I didn't."

She hated that he could make her blush. Instead of responding, she threw back the covers and took herself off behind the privacy screen. In truth, she loved the idea of one last adventure. She would reconcile herself to seeing him only at the occasional social event-she would have to. But she wasn't ready to say good-bye yet.

The atmosphere in the carriage couldn't have been more different than on the journey from Bristol. Gone was the formality, the rigorous observation of propriety. After knocking on the ceiling to signal the driver, Eric startled her by sitting on the bench next to her instead of the seat opposite. She could just barely make out his features in the dark, but she could feel the heat radiating off him. His leg lay mere inches from her own, and she could not look away from the muscular buckskin-clad thigh that presented such a contrast to her own muslin-clad lap.

"Has Mrs. Smith let Mr. Smith out of her sight?" he asked. He'd seen the reunion of mother and son when he dropped them at Emily's house.

"Barely," she said, glad for a topic of conversation to distract her from her nerves. "I think Sally would prefer to keep him by her side at all times, but he's anxious to get outside, to walk the streets as a free man."

"The papers should arrive within days. I'm sorry he has to wait."

Emily shook her head. Eric had assured them that Whitehall would see to Billy's emancipation, in recognition of his service to the Crown. He'd waved off any expressions of thanks, but her heart swelled with gratitude all the same. Though it was probably too dark for him to see, she turned her head to look at the passing scenery to hide the tears gathering in her eyes. When she'd composed herself, she said, "Where are we going?"

He leaned forward to look out her window, too. "You're about to see."

Blackstone didn't think he'd ever been this nervous. The carriage rolled to a halt and he jumped down, surreptitiously wiping his sweaty palm on his breeches. Waving off the approaching footman, he helped Emily down.

"St. Luke's Hospital?"

He adored the way her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the darkened street scene. It was, thankfully, deserted. He'd paid well to make sure they wouldn't be disturbed once they were inside, but he couldn't control incidental street traffic.

"Not the hospital," he said, taking her hand. "We walk the rest of the way."

One of his servants approached from down the street. "Everything is ready, my lord."

"Ready for what?" Her voice rose. "What does he mean by everything?"

"Patience," he murmured, hastening their pace.

As they grew closer, he kept his eyes on her, not wanting to miss her reaction once realization dawned. It wasn't a minute before he was rewarded. She stopped in her tracks, and her hand clamped down on his forearm. "Are we going to the Peerless Pool?"