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,” Emily said, 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 expression 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.

Blackstone shot to his feet. “What’s the matter? Is she ill?” Bailey’s sharp look was an admonishment—his use of the word “she” suggested a kind of familiarity that hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Lord Blackstone and I were just remarking that Miss Mirren is usually such an early riser,” said Bailey, who also came to his feet. His calmly delivered remark reminded Blackstone to have a care. Part of him wanted to say “sod it.” Who the hell cared if Emily’s maid suspected anything untoward? But Bailey was right. This mission—and future ones—depended on absolute inscrutability.

“She isn’t abed, my lord, that’s the problem.” Angela thrust a note forward. He stared at the maid, feeling—again, quite irrationally—that if he didn’t take the letter, nothing bad could happen to Emily.

It was Bailey reaching for the note that brought him back to his senses. “Thank you,” Blackstone said to the maid, “that will be all.” Then, as much as he’d wanted to avoid reading the note a moment ago, now he had to know what it said. His fingers burned as he lunged for Bailey.

“Easy,” his friend said. “Take it.”

He tore open the seal, and his eyes raced over the now-familiar handwriting.

“What is it?” Bailey asked.

Blackstone looked down at the hand his friend had laid on his arm. It seemed a foreign object he didn’t recognize, a signal from another world, one he struggled toward, even as he was held back by limbs made of lead. He handed Bailey the note. “She’s gone.”

Bailey scanned the letter. “You can overtake them.”

Blackstone shook his head. “I can’t leave.”

“What? What is wrong with you, man?”

This was worse, that’s what was wrong. Worse than watching Alec die. At the time, it had seemed an unendurable torture. But letting Emily careen toward a confrontation with her abuser was beyond his worst imaginings. She would not succeed. He wanted to believe in her, wanted to share her cheery confidence, but she underestimated Manning.

And, a part of him protested, she had underestimated him, too. She should have awakened him. He would have helped—wouldn’t he?

The shameful answer to that question surfaced, and he sat with a thud in front of his plate as his skin began to tighten. Though he’d always known he was bound for hell, he hadn’t foreseen that it would look like this. But here it was. Hell: an unremarkable breakfast room without Emily Mirren in it.

“You’ve got to go,” Bailey said. “God knows what’s going to happen to them. She can’t just stroll onto a ship crawling with men who work for Manning and expect to walk off with a slave.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he said angrily.

“And why is Talbot suddenly so willing to risk all to help her?” Bailey voiced the very thoughts that were ripping through Blackstone’s mind.

“What choice do I have? Le Cafard might be on the next boat.”

Bailey stared at Blackstone for a moment, then joined him at the table, angling his chair so he could better see Blackstone’s face. “You poor bastard.” When Blackstone didn’t respond, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were trained directly on Blackstone’s. “Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

It was a single word, one he had not recognized as the truth until the moment it slipped from his mouth. But as soon as he said it, he knew it had been true for a very long time. “Yes,” he said again, testing the sound. Though it was his voice forming the word, he could have sworn he heard her voice in his head, saying it in unison with him. “Yes.”

“Then you don’t have a choice. You have to go.”

“I’ve spent years waiting for Le Cafard, for this moment. That’s what this is about, this bloody business. It takes everything from you.” Rage constricted his throat. How dare Bailey try to talk him into giving into sentiment? “I told you that,” he said bitterly. “Richton told us both that when we joined.”

“It doesn’t have to be you. I’ll wait for the boat.”

Bailey might as well have splashed water in his face. Of course it had to be him. Blackstone versus Le Cafard. That’s what it was all about. That’s what he’d promised. “When I was in France, when his men had me—”

“Yes, I know,” Bailey waved a hand dismissively. “You vowed revenge. He hurt you, and you want to hurt him back. But here’s the thing—are you going to make the same mistake all over again?”

“What?” Blackstone sputtered, his fevered mind unable to keep up with Bailey, who was speaking in riddles. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about giving up everything for your bloody cause.” Bailey’s voice was low, but Blackstone could hear the barely controlled anger in it. “You’ve been doing it for years. Ever since you made that blasted promise to Captain Mirren. It was one thing before, but now you’re going to give up love, too? You’re going to give up everything so you can meet a fucking boat?”

Somebody had to do this work, he wanted to say. It’s what he’d always believed, what he’d always told his men. There were promises to keep, and somebody had to be responsible for that.

And if he didn’t have his work, what did he have?

For a long moment, Blackstone heard only the ticking of the clock on the mantle.

Then he stood and tore open the door. “Stanway!” He nearly crashed into the butler in the foyer. “I need a carriage. I need to leave. Now.”