Later, Graciela left the library to change to her traveling gown, and ran into Lady Sirena in the corridor.

She rubbed her belly. “Ah, there you are, Graciela. I’m off for a rest before dinner. Lady Jane has already gone up. She is still tired from the journey and last night’s ball. Are you well? You’ve gone a bit pale.”

She took a deep breath to settle herself. They had agreed they wouldn’t share the plans with the other ladies, lest they decide they must come along. They’d sent word for Mr. Gibson to stand by. Whether he would tell his wife was anyone’s guess. Lord Bakeley was off seeing to some urgent business matter else he would have been involved in the planning, in spite of the fact that he was likely to leak information to his wife.

“Yes, I am fine,” Graciela lied. “I’m looking for Francisca. Is she back in the nursery?”

“She went in to order Reina’s supper, and Perry promised to bring the wee one up as soon as they’re finished picking flowers and making daisy chains.” She patted Graciela’s hand. “She’ll go straight to sleep tonight after all that fresh garden air. Why don’t you go up and rest a moment? I’ll send a servant to fetch Francisca for you.”

In her bedchamber, Graciela ransacked the press until she found the old gown her father had bought her upon arrival in England, the one she’d worn to travel to Kingsley’s country estate. She pulled the book of sonnets out of her pocket and set it aside, then contorted herself to unfasten her dress and was down to her stays by the time Francisca arrived.

“Help me,” she said, “And then go and get Juan and meet me in the library. We need to talk to the both of you.”

Francisca dropped the dress over her head. “What is this about?”

“It’s about Captain Llewellyn.”

Behind her, Francisca went still. When Graciela looked over her shoulder the woman was frowning.

“Hurry. We are laying a trap for him. I need you and Juan to help me.”

“What of the baby?”

“She is staying here with Lady Perry. Go. I’ll go down to the garden and check on her.”

After she shooed Francisca out the door, she hurriedly packed a small valise, found her shawl and a mantle, and stowed her sheathed dagger in her belt.

The sonnets stared up at her from the bedside table, and she slid them into her pocket. She would meet Charley in the library, but first she needed to see Reina, she needed to make sure her little girl was safe.

Outside, the footman standing guard pointed her toward a side garden. Reina sat on a bench next to Lady Perry, swinging her legs and watching while her new aunt strung blooms together into a crown.

Lady Perry plopped the circlet onto Reina’s head and both of them laughed.

“Good evening, my queen,” Graciela said.

Lady Perry jumped up, looking relieved. “You are here. We were just about to go in.”

“No.” Reina screwed her mouth up in a pout.

“Sweetling,” Lady Perry said. “We’ve been out here all afternoon, and it will be dark soon. We must go in.” She glanced at Graciela. “I must speak with Cook. I promised Sirena and Lady Jane I’d see to the dinner plans. And I sent the nursery maid to check on Francisca. She was supposed to come back.”

Poor Perry. A whole afternoon chasing this little one could be exhausting. “I’m sorry. It was my fault Francisca was delayed. Reina, would you like to wear your crown during your dinner? Come along then.”

“No.” The little girl shook her head furiously, the crown flying off. She clambered down from the bench to retrieve it, pushing Lady Perry aside when she tried to rescue it first.

Her little face had fixed in a red scowl. No one at Shaldon House had yet seen one of her tantrums. The least Graciela could do was spare Lady Perry that.

“You go along,” Graciela said. “She is overtired from all the excitement and very hungry. I’ll sit with her for a few minutes, and by the time we go in, her dinner will be ready.”

“If you are sure, Graciela.”

The look of relief that crossed Perry’s face almost made her laugh. “Yes, I am sure.”

Kincaid met up with Charley in the corridor and followed him into the library where Father was waiting. He’d left soon after they’d begun their plotting and now got right to his report.

“We have men in place at the inn, as well as the docks,” he said.

“And the Duque’s yacht?” Charley asked.

“We have a boat on the river looking for it. Llewellyn’s ship is out near the Nore. He has a launch standing by to take him back out.”

“Has he arrived at the Talbot?” Father asked.

“Not yet.”

Charley walked to the table and picked up the swaddled doll. Graciela was late, and his nerves were prickling.

The door opened and Francisca entered, Juan following her.

Charley’s heart raced. “Where is Gracie?”

“We were to meet her here,” Juan said.

“She is in the garden with Reina,” Francisca said. “I’ll just go and get—”

Charley tossed her the doll, pushed past them, and raced down the stairs.

Perry greeted him on the walkway near the kitchens.

“What the devil, Perry?” he said.

“She’s not alone. The footman is with her in the side garden.”

He hurried past her and heard a child shriek.

Perry snatched at his arm. “Reina was tired. She’s having a tantrum.”

And then a woman screamed.

The garden bench was still warm from Lady Perry. Graciela watched as Reina plopped down tiredly on the flagstones and began plucking at the petals of scattered flowers. The footman standing guard was beginning to wilt also.

She couldn’t remember this placid young man’s name. “We shall get you inside for your tea soon,” she said. “Have you been out here all afternoon?”

He nodded. “Yes, miss.”

Francisca’s comments about strangers lurking in the square came back to her with a sense of unease. “Mija, Cook told me there might be some chocolate for a girl who eats all of her pudding.”

The little head came up, but her eyes looked past Graciela, her mouth dropped in alarm, and the hair on Graciela’s neck rose. She flew from the bench, scooped up her child, and the air stirred as the footman rushed past.

“Run,” he shouted.

She glanced back. Two men in rough clothing had come over the garden fence and were already attacking their guard.

Reina wailed. Graciela took off toward the house.

A hand grasped her shoulder and spun her around. He was coarse, unshaven, and pockmarked—a man from the docks, she would guess, and that told her all she needed to know about who had hired him.

She clutched Reina tighter. “I suppose the Captain sent you,” she said.

He blinked.

Reina whimpered, a choking whine starting deep in her chest. “Let me get the child inside, get my cloak, and I’ll come with you.”

Pow. Oof. With a crash, the footman was down. The other villain brought his boot back to kick him.

“Stop that,” Graciela shouted.

He turned his attention on her, and her breath eased, and then hitched up again as he walked her way.

Help would come soon, she prayed. She need only stall.

“’Ere now.” Her first captor reached over and grabbed Reina.

Panic roared in her. “No,” she shouted. “Stop. What are you…I’ll come with you. I’ll go to him. Leave her.” She held her baby, both of them screaming in this tug-of-war. Hands grasped her from behind, another force too powerful. She couldn’t hold on, and Reina was yanked away.

Her baby’s look of pure terror sent Graciela flailing.

“I’ll go to him.”

Charley made out Graciela’s words over the screeching child.

A man rushed headlong from the side garden, the wriggling bundle tucked at his side like a barrel of rum.

“Perry,” Charley yelled and thrust out his foot sending the man and the child flying.

Charley reached for Reina, but Perry was there, diving to cushion her fall. While she wrestled the man, he grabbed for an urn of potted geraniums and coshed him.

Reina screamed, and kicked, and flailed her little arms. Charley scooped her up and helped Perry to stand.

“He needn’t do this.” Graciela’s voice sounded panicky. “What—don’t touch me,” she shouted.

He handed the screaming bundle to Perry. “Get her inside.”

She hesitated. The man on the ground stirred.

“Go,” he said, and she took off.

He picked up the urn and hit the downed man again.

Gracie came around the corner, another man holding her, his hand smashing her breast.

White hot rage roared in him, mirroring the fury twisting her face.

He took in a breath. He was armed with a garden pot. The villain had a knife, not poised at any of her vital spots. Yet blood dripped down the man’s knife and his sleeve.

Reina’s screams retreated, and other footsteps grew louder. Their men, he hoped.

“Are you hurt, Gracie?” he asked.

She shook her head. “The footman—”

She wheezed as the thug yanked her up tight, that hand taking a firmer grip on her breast.

Blood roared in him. Damn, but he would slice that hand off. “What the devil are you doing in Lord Shaldon’s garden?” he shouted. “Let the lady go.”

“Not ’til I’m out of here. Move out the way and let me pass.”

“The footman is—oof.” Gracie huffed and gritted her teeth.

Kincaid or one of the men would be going out a window to circle around behind this devil. He just had to keep him talking.

And then he could kill him.

“Shoot him,” Gracie said.

“Shut up.” The villain gripped her awkwardly, his knife arm trembling. Their footman had sliced him. Some of that blood was his.

“Let the lady go,” Charley said. “Whatever the Captain is paying you, we can do better.”

The thug’s brows lifted, and then drew together. He took a step and Graciela dug in the heels of her sturdy boots.

“Move,” the man growled.

“More money,” Charley said, “for the lady’s life.”

“An’ I should trust a rich swell?”

While he talked, she squirmed, rolling away, her hands moving—

She had her blade.

Charley took a step, raising the urn.

The man yanked on her and stopped, wheezing, eyes popping in astonishment. His grip loosened and he slid to his knees, dropping all the way to the flag-stoned walk.

“Goddamn you.” He huffed and wheezed, “Goddamn you, you bitch,”

The urn slid from Charley’s fingers, shattering as he reached for her.

“Gracie.” He eased the dripping blade from her grip.

“I’ll take it.” Kincaid had finally appeared.

Charley folded her into his arms and trembled with her.

With her nose buried in Charley’s coat, Graciela could begin to breathe again without smelling rot, blood, and death.

Dear God, she’d almost lost her child.

She raised her head. “Reina?”

“Is safe,” he said. “Perry has her in hand.”

Tears rushed her eyes. “The footman—”

“Shhh. We’ll see to him.”

Men bustled around them. She could sense them, smell them. They were the Earl of Shaldon’s men. Charley’s men.

She buried her head again, taking his comfort.

“You did well, love,” he murmured, and “Thank God, Gracie,” and “I’m so sorry.”

“How is she?”

Lord Shaldon had joined them, his voice filled with concern.

She raised her head. “I am fine, sir.” But her voice had trembled and more tears came.

She had felt a pop as her blade dove into the villain’s back. She had surely killed that man. Her chest constricted, and she gasped, reaching for control, trying to breathe.

Charley held her, stroked her, murmured to her, and she finally managed a full breath.

Lord Shaldon was frowning. “I’m so very sorry, Graciela. This should not have happened. Did you by chance recognize them?”

The arms holding her tensed. He did not want his father questioning her, not yet.

“It’s all right, Charley.” She shook her head and blinked. “No, but they are sailors or lumpers, someone from the docks, I’d say.”

“Yes. This adds a new wrinkle.” Charley’s father beckoned a man. “We shall see if that one is able to talk. Get a bucket of water.”

A child’s piercing shriek came from the house. Dios, while she sniffled and cried, her baby was terrified.

“Go,” Charley released her, eyes burning.

She grabbed his arm. “You come, too. You always calm her.”

“It’s you she needs now. I’m going to see what this one says.”

She glanced at her captor. He didn’t move.

The other one, the one who’d taken Reina, was shaking off water and stirring.

Another wail split the twilight and tore into her heart. She dropped a kiss on his cheek and left, vaguely aware of a footman shadowing her. She’d be guarded everywhere she went, and Reina also. She’d have no freedom now at all.

Llewellyn would pay for this.

Inside, Reina sprawled on the kitchen floor kicking, crying, holding her breath, a circle of women around her.

Graciela pushed her way through them and dropped to her knees.

Outside, Charley stood with his father, watching their men help the footman to his feet, as well as the villain he’d coshed. The other…

“Damn it, Father, I don’t want her out there tonight.”

“I know. Yet she’ll want revenge.”

“Aye,” Kincaid said, joining them. “She truly is a colonial girl. That was a poke right to the kidney. Captain Kingsley taught her well.” He clapped Charley on the shoulder. “Ye’ve got yourself a brave lass.”

“Braver than either of you could ever imagine,” Charley said.

Father cast him a curious look, but held his questions. Not that Charley would share Graciela’s secrets.

And…did she have more? I’ll go to him, she’d said to that bastard.

He shook off his doubts. She’d been bluffing, buying time until help arrived.

Behind them, the man Charley had coshed groaned.

“Ah, very good,” Kincaid said. “Let’s get this one to spill his guts.”

By the time they’d reached the nursery, Reina had slipped into a hiccupping whimper. Settling her into sleep required a hot meal, a posset, and a good deal of rocking, but she finally slipped off.

With Lady Perry and Lady Jane standing watch, a nursery maid on duty, and a footman in the corridor outside, Graciela went to change out of her bloodied gown.

On the walk to her bedchamber, Francisca said nothing. When the door closed on them, she silently pulled Graciela into her arms, pressing her tight to her thin breast.

“Thanks be to God,” the maid said.

Her dark eyes shone with tears. Graciela hadn’t seen this much emotion since Francisca returned to Veracruz and learned that her mother had died.

She took the maid’s hand. “Do not worry, we will get our revenge.”

Francisca’s mouth firmed and she nodded, and then quickly turned Graciela and began undressing her. She helped her into one of her simple, modest, colonial gowns and was lacing her up when Charley came in.

“How is Reina?” He kissed her.

“Finally sleeping.”

Francisca tugged Graciela’s skirt into place and turned to leave.

“Wait, Francisca,” he said.

“I go back to Reina.”

He shook his head. “No. Meet us in the library. Juan is there already.”

“But…you do not mean for her to go to him? That man tried to take Graciela. You would let her walk into danger again?”

“I have to go,” Gracie said. “Llewellyn must pay for what he did, for what he is planning to do. I am going to go.”

Charley’s frown told her he agreed with Francisca.

She took his hand. “You know I must do this.”

His mouth firmed. “If he’s expecting all of you, it would be best if you and Juan went also, Francisca. But if you wish to stay behind—”

“No.” Francisca’s eyes blazed. “Two times we left you and bad things happened. We will not have a third.”

When the door closed on the maid, Charley took her into his arms. “I can’t help thinking Francisca is right.”

“That man,” she said shakily. “Did he…is he…?”

He took in a breath, debating whether to lie. Taking a human life was a burden she shouldn’t have to bear.

Yet her mother had borne it to save her daughter, hadn’t she?

She leaned back and looked up at him, clear-eyed. “Tell me, Charley.”

“Yes.”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“You did what you must. You saved Reina’s life. Who knows what they had in mind for her.”

“For her?”

He took a deep breath. “The man I coshed is talking.” He gripped her hands, trying to quell the anger churning inside him. “They weren’t there for you. They were there to take Reina.”

She stepped away from him and went to her discarded gown, retrieving the small book and stowing it into her pocket. She straightened, then bent over the garment again.

When she turned she held the empty dagger’s sheath. “Where is my blade?”

“I handed it to Kincaid. We’ll get it back.”

“Very well, Charley. Let us go and find Captain Llewellyn.”

When she entered the library on Charley’s arm, Lord Shaldon came around the table. Lord Bakeley and Mr. Gibson hovered nearby, and Kincaid waited near the window. Juan and Francisca stood by a shelf bursting with books.

It had been a mere few nights ago that she’d stumbled into this room, planning how to run away and find Captain Llewellyn and wondering if they might have a volume of Cervantes to share with Francisca.

What a sea-change fate had wrought—she’d learned the truth of Captain Llewellyn and risked all of Papa’s secrets to marry into this spy lord’s family. Instead of sharing the plot of a book, she and Francisca were plotting with all of these men.

Or, not all. “Where is Lord Farnsworth?” she asked.

“He’s gone ahead to see to things,” Lord Shaldon said. “He’ll be back shortly.”

Charley stepped away, and Lord Shaldon took both her hands in his much larger ones.

“Are you all right then?”

Charley’s father, like her own papa, had seen much and had suffered much. Now his kindness almost undid her. She took in a breath. “I am.”

“And Reina?”

“She is finally sleeping. Lady Perry and Lady Jane will stay with her. How is the footman? He did try to fight them.”

Lord Bakeley stirred. “The surgeon has seen to him and believes he’ll survive. And you are right, he didn’t betray us.”

Us. She was part of them, part of this family, as was Reina. Moisture flooded her eyes.

Lord Shaldon placed the dagger into her hands. It gleamed in the candlelight, the marks etched in the hilt and the blade stark and clearly delineated.

Her gaze dropped. Her hands trembled.

“I cleaned it myself,” Lord Shaldon said. “Did your father give you this before he left?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

“The design is quite unique.”

She sheathed the dagger and lifted her chin, holding his gaze. “It is an Azteca design, he said.”

“Hmm.” Lord Shaldon went to the sideboard, poured a sherry, and brought it to her. “Have this.”

Out of politeness, she took a sip, praying her heart would slow down before it jumped out of her chest. “What have you found?’

“They staged a distraction,” Mr. Gibson said, “An accident the next street over that pulled most of the grooms out to help. Damned clever.”

Nodding, she swallowed another few drops.

“Have you eaten?” Lord Bakeley asked. “None of us have. We’ve sent Sirena off to see about food.”

“Truly, I have no appetite. Do we know who those men are?”

“Not yet,” Kincaid said. “Most likely they were brought from the docks to do a bit of work.”

The door opened with a swishing of skirts and clattering of dishes.

“Come.” Charley led her to a chair. “We’ll all need some nourishment for the night ahead.” He signaled to Juan. “Juan, you and Francisca also.”

Shock registered on their faces, and her heart lifted. Living in close quarters during their travels, she’d often shared meals with her servants. If she did not eat, they would not eat.

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll just have a nibble while we discuss the plans.”