J osefina stood on the front steps of Branbury House and waved as Harek's coach rolled off into the night. Pleasant as both he and the evening had been, she was glad he was gone; all she'd wanted for the past few hours was the chance to retire to her bed chamber alone and think.

The rey stood in the foyer behind her as she turned around. "I think Melbourne may have done us a favor in withdrawing," he commented, removing his gloves and handing them over to Grimm. "What an amiable fellow Charles is."

She smiled. "He is that."

"He wants to marry you."

Josefina stopped halfway to the stairs. Don't be disappointed, she told herself. Melbourne would never make such an offer, regardless. "I thought he might," she said aloud.

"I haven't given my definitive approval yet," her father continued, "since for one thing I only met him this morning, and for another I have to consider timing. With the land office opening tomorrow, interest will already be high. In a fortnight or so, when our celebrity has begun to recede a bit, that will be the time to make the announcement, I think."

"You might ask me if I like him," she countered.

He waved a hand at her. "Your mother said you liked him. We already discussed it. It's more important, though, that he understand our goals."

"I believe you can convince anyone of anything." Well, nearly anyone. She drew a breath. "And now I shall say goodnight, because I am quite tired."

The rey smiled. "Yes, get a good night's sleep. The people will want to see you looking radiant tomorrow."

She watched him down the hall in the direction of his office before she climbed the stairs. Once Conchita had helped her into her night rail and left, she sat in bed for a long moment, looking into the darkness and listening.

As the house settled into its night quiet she rose again and lit the candle on her bed stand. The prospectus she'd auth.o.r.ed sat on her writing table. The other book, the one she'd borrowed this morning from Lord Allendale's library, lay at the back of her wardrobe behind a stack of hat boxes.

She knew of a handful of people who'd seen Costa Habichuela with their own eyes-her father and his military colleagues, all of whom were presently in his service and shared his vision, and this John Rice-Able, whose book Melbourne had been reading when she'd found him in the library. Perhaps Mr. Rice-Able could answer a few of the questions that had very recently begun troubling her.

Silently she sat at the writing table and opened the book to the section on Central America.

An hour later the candle had burned down to a nub, and she'd read the entire section twice. Josefina sat back, rubbing her eyes. It might not be true, she told herself, turning to her prospectus and flipping through it, re-reading some of her pasted-together phrases. Of course she hadn't believed that her father had been gifted with a paradise, despite what he boasted, but Rice-Able described Costa Habichuela as h.e.l.l.

"His book could be a lie," she muttered, standing to return the book to its hiding place. Who was to say whether his book had any more credibility than hers? Simply because she'd never seen Costa Habichuela with her own eyes didn't mean everything she'd put together had been false. Previously, though, she hadn't cared. Her father's letters emphasized what he wanted her to present in the prospectus, and she'd done so. It had been enough to secure their loans. But perhaps she'd done her job too well.

When something seemed too good to be true, a man was supposed to pause for a second to wonder whether that might be the case. If people invested in bonds without first doing research, they were foolish. Perhaps they shouldn't have made Costa Habichuela so...perfect. But as of her father's return from Scotland this had become more than a bank swindle. He was either selling poor, hopeful people plots of land that could be settled and made profitable, or he was tricking them into buying their own graves. And with Mr. Rice-Able's written accounts, she had reason to doubt that her father's descriptions resembled Costa Habichuela at all. And now it mattered; she might be a thief, but she wasn't a murderer.

What was she supposed to do, though? Tell the authorities? Tell Sebastian? She might as well throw herself into the Thames. The safer alternative, then, was to do nothing. To allow her father to load his ships with immigrants and sail them across the Atlantic. If Melbourne and Mr. Rice-Able were correct, in all likelihood no one would ever hear from the settlers again, and if any did survive then she and her parents would be long gone before anyone heard the tale-and with countless hundreds of thousands of pounds to secure their continued freedom and well-being.

Just do nothing. It would be simple. And she had more than a suspicion that even if the worst were true, and even if amiable Lord Harek were to find out about it, the wealth they would receive in exchange would be more than enough to compensate him for any blows to his conscience. With a duke along, their next money-raising effort would have much more respectability.

But then, what if the worst was true, and she did go along with it, and the authorities found out before they could flee? They wouldn't just be imprisoned or transported for this. They could well be executed.

An icy shaft of fear ran through her. Even doing nothing might not be an option, if Melbourne went to anyone with his suspicions. And why wouldn't he? He was a Griffin, a paragon of virtue, a legendary defender of England. They might have had s.e.x, but according to him, that had been practically in defiance of his own best interest. So even if she might dream of being with him again, why should she believe for one second that he would choose protecting her over the welfare of what were essentially his citizens?

She'd nearly chosen him over her own welfare, and that was more and more clearly insanity. Being a good lover did not make him a good protector. And the fact that she believed Melbourne to be a good man made the circ.u.mstances even more perilous for her and her family, now that her father had decided that one hundred and fifty thousand pounds wasn't enough.

She needed to talk to someone. She needed to tell her father about Sebastian, and hope that he would either be able to tell her that Costa Habichuela was close enough to a paradise that they had nothing to fear, or that he had a plan to protect them. To protect her. As if he could possibly have a plan to protect her heart.

She went downstairs early to find both of her parents already eating breakfast. Another flutter of nerves twisted through her gut. First some answers about the true nature of Costa Habichuela, she told herself. Determine how much difficulty she-they-might be in. Only then could and would she decide what to do with what she knew.

"Good morning," she began, smiling, and headed for the sideboard, though the thought of eating anything at all made her stomach roil. As Grimm held her chair for her, she nodded her thanks and sat opposite her mother, with the rey at the head of the table. "Grimm, please give us some privacy," she continued.

"Of course, Your Highness." The butler snapped his fingers. He and the two hovering footmen in the room vacated, closing the doors behind them, and in a moment she and her parents were alone.

"What's this?" her father asked. "Charles will be here within the hour. We have a very important appearance to make this morning."

"I'm aware of that." Josefina sat for a moment, gathering herself. "Father, I have some concerns about this next step we're taking. I think we need to discuss them."

He lifted a light eyebrow. "We discussed this already."

"Yes, but where are you sending these settlers?"

"Are you jesting?"

"I'm quite serious. I would like to hear exactly what your plans are."

He set down his fork with a clatter. "I will not be interrogated by you. This project has been our sole concern for the past two years. Why are you questioning it now?"

"Because I think you left out some details," she returned. "I thought this was about loan money. And perhaps marrying me off to a peer. Nothing more."

"That was the original idea."

"Then why alter our plans?"

"Did you have any idea that we would be handed one hundred and fifty thousand pounds within a fortnight of our arrival in London?"

"No. Our reception here has been astounding."

"Yes, it has been. We've been presented with the opportunity to double that. Perhaps triple it. We'll never have to worry about money again. We can live like royalty." He laughed. "What am I saying? We are royalty."

"I have no difficulty with that," she returned. "As of this moment, we're only hurting the banks. They'll have to refund that bond money to the investors or face riots. The citizens won't lose anything but hopefully some of their naivete."

"And?"

"And that changes once you begin selling land. These people are buying a dream, Father. A hope for the future. What are they going to find when they get to Costa Habichuela?"

"Paradise."

She drew a breath. "That's what we've told everyone else. What's the truth?"

The rey frowned. "It is not your place to question me, Josefina. You will play your part with a smile. Because if you don't, we'll all swing for this. Do you understand that?"

Josefina swallowed. "I understand." It was the closest he'd ever come to admitting anything, even about the loan money. The secret of their success, he always said, was to treat what they did as real, even among themselves. "Just tell me if there will be trouble when the ships and settlers arrive at Costa Habichuela."

"I imagine there will be." Stephen Embry leaned forward, grabbing her hand. "But we shall be gone from England by then. And Josefina, this is the last time we will speak of this." He released her again.

Oh, dear. She'd been right. Melbourne had been right. And once he heard about the land sales-if she'd been uneasy about it, she couldn't imagine how he might react. Or rather, she could imagine it. "There's one more thing," she said quietly, misery rising in her heart.

"Make it quick. We can't afford to make the household staff suspicious."

"I know. It's just that..." G.o.d, she didn't want to say it. "Melbourne has been asking some very pointed questions about the conditions in Costa Habichuela. I don't think he believes the prospectus. In fact, I know he doesn't. He knows we took the information from other reports."

Slowly her father pushed to his feet. "Did you tell him anything?"

"No! Of course not. But I don't know what he'll do when he learns that you're-we're-encouraging people to sail off and settle there."

The rey strode to the sideboard and back. "d.a.m.nation," he muttered, chewing on his moustache as he paced. "I should never have suggested his involvement. I was thinking of the benefit of having the Griffin name attached to ours, not that the self-righteous fool would delve into our affairs. This is my fault."

Melbourne was a great many things, but she would never consider him a fool. "We should cancel our engagement with him at Vauxhall."

"That won't do any good. As you said, once he hears about the land sales he's bound to do something. No, we'll meet him as intended. I'll take care of matters."

The way he said it sounded ominous. "How?"

"Don't worry yourself over it." He snapped his fingers several times. "Just avoid him until tonight."

"I'm going to luncheon with his sisters and his daughter."

"Would he confide in them?"

Would he? He seemed so private, even to those he knew well. "I don't think so."

"Then go to luncheon." He crossed around the table again to kiss his wife. "I'll meet you both in the foyer in forty minutes. I need to talk to Captain Milton. Vauxhall is a very crowded place, after all. Anyone can get in if they have the entrance fee. And a man like Melbourne has enemies. A number of them, I'm sure."

As he left the room, Josefina looked at her mother. Nagging horror touched her as she considered her father's words. "He wouldn't," she whispered.

"He's angry," Maria Embry soothed. "He'll find a way through this. Your father is a very clever man. And I know he's grateful that you told him of Lord Melbourne's concerns."

"Yes, but this isn't about tricking someone into paying plantation rental to us or buying livestock that doesn't exist, Mama. This-"

Grimm and the footmen returned to the breakfast room, and Queen Maria resumed her breakfast. Josefina tried to, but what little appet.i.te she'd had was now gone completely.

She'd done her duty to her family, and told them about a very likely and serious threat. Her father had said he would deal with it. Therefore, everything was back where it belonged, proceeding exactly according to the plan the rey had begun mapping out two years earlier-except for the settlement of Costa Habichuela.

Why, then, did she feel sick with dread? If something happened now to Sebastian, it would be her fault. They had no agreement between them, and she'd certainly never promised him anything, but this felt like a betrayal. Not just of him, but of her heart.

"Thank you for seeing me, Admiral," Sebastian said, offering his hand to the uniformed man standing behind the large mahogany desk.

Admiral Mattingly had a warm, hard grip, and a reputation much the same. "It's a pleasure, Your Grace," he rasped, "though an unexpected one, to be sure. What may I do for you?"

At the admiral's gesture, Sebastian took a seat, declining the offer of a cigar. "I have an odd request," he began, wondering what the rest of his family would think if they learned that he'd left London and Parliament for the second time in three days, this time for Dover. "I'm looking for anyone who might have sailed along the eastern coast of Central America. I've been offered some timber at a very good price, but I would like an outside opinion of the quality before I agree to anything."

"Most of our fleet's either in the Mediterranean or along the western coast of Spain at the moment."

"Yes, I know my odds aren't very favorable, but I wanted to try."

"All the way from London on horseback for a question about timber quality?"

Sebastian nodded.

"It must be a great quant.i.ty of timber." The admiral regarded him for a moment, then pulled a piece of paper from a drawer and scrawled something on it. "Lieutenant Calder!"

The young man who'd shown Sebastian in to the admiral pushed open the door, stepped into the room, and clicked his heels together. "Yes, sir!"

"Take this down to the Endeavor and deliver it to Captain Jerrod."

"Yes, sir!" The lieutenant took the note, saluted, and vanished again.

"He's a good lad, very efficient," the admiral said, indicating the door, "but can't set foot on a deck without casting up his accounts. Have some tea, Your Grace. We should have a reply in twenty minutes or so."

"Thank you, Admiral."

"Jerrod sails tomorrow. He may not be able to help, but it's a shame to see you come all this way for nothing. England needs its timber."

Sebastian smiled. Admiral Mattingly knew he frequently carried out directives for Prinny. This one might be a bit self-serving, but depending on whether he could find someone who knew the Mosquito Coast area and whether they could corroborate John Rice-Able's stories or not, the result could have a national impact.

In just under twenty minutes Lieutenant Calder rapped on the door and entered the office again. "Admiral, Captain Jerrod sends his regrets that he cannot a.s.sist you personally, but he has put one of his lieutenants at your disposal."

"Well, send him in, Calder."

"Yes, sir!" Calder left again. A moment later a tall, handsome young man with black hair and merry green eyes entered the office. "Lieutenant Bradshaw Carroway at your service, Admiral," he said, saluting.

"Carroway, this is His Grace, the Duke of Melbourne. a.s.sist him in any way you can."

Sebastian stood. "Might we take a walk?"

The lieutenant inclined his head. "After you, Your Grace."

They left the office and headed along the harbor battery. "I apologize for taking you from your duties, Lieutenant. Admiral Mattingly says that your ship leaves tomorrow."

The young man nodded. He had to be several years younger than Zachary, barely out of his teens. "You got me out of counting sacks of oranges, Your Grace. I am extremely grateful." With a grin, he gave Sebastian a sideways glance. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Should I?"

"We met two years ago, very briefly. My older brother brought me along to a soiree you attended."

"Who is your brother?"

"Tristan Carroway, Viscount Dare."

It was Sebastian's turn to smile. "Of course. I should have remembered."

"I danced with your sister, Lady Eleanor. Your brother Charlemagne practically demanded my entire family history before he'd let me on the dance floor." Carroway chuckled again. "But what may I do for you today, Your Grace? Captain Jerrod said someone had a query about South America."

"Central America, actually. The Mosquito Coast. Are you familiar with it?"

"I was on the Triumph last year. We chased an American frigate up and down that coast for two months before we got word of a cessation of hostilities."