After two days of losing Grace to his family for talks and walks, estate tours and rides, Hugh was more than ready to ship his parents back to Hertfordshire. His father was charmed by Grace’s stories of all the places she’d traveled to and the battles she’d witnessed. He couldn’t get enough of her tales, and he was fascinated by her incredible memory. Hugh’s mother had found a new daughter. She contrived ways of keeping Grace and Jo with her as much of the day as possible.

Hugh was truly pleased with the well-deserved attention she was receiving. At the same time he enjoyed playing the role of the irritable ignored lover. He especially appreciated all the interest Grace gave him when he slipped into her bed each night after everyone was sleep.

But all of that changed now. Aston MacKay, the law clerk Hugh sent to Antwerp, had arrived in the Borders with the British embassy officials from Brussels.

Hugh had held back from telling Grace he was coming. MacKay had gone to the Continent to search out information about a missing American woman, but after meeting with the two Englishmen, he’d written to Hugh again. An urgent meeting with Grace had been requested regarding an undisclosed agreement between Daniel Ware and the British government. Now they were seeking her help.

As instructed, MacKay had situated the men at the George Inn. This morning, Hugh mentioned the names to his father. As a longtime member of Parliament, the earl’s knowledge of families connected with the government extended far beyond Hugh’s.

Stealing Grace from the clutches of Jo and his mother, Hugh led her toward his study, where the travelers were waiting. On the way, he explained to her what information he’d gathered about the two men.

“Sir Rupert Elliot, a career diplomat, is serving as an envoy to the Netherlands. He’s stationed in Brussels,” Hugh told her. “The other man, Captain Thomas Rivenhall, has served in many capacities since the war with Napoleon ended. Formerly an officer on Wellington’s staff, he now has some vague position in the Foreign Office. His explanation to MacKay was imprecise regarding his exact responsibility at the present, but my father believes he’s been employed to dig skeletons out of closets.”

“Lovely,” she said uneasily. “But what could my father possibly have had to do with them?”

Hugh understood her discomfort. “The only way to know is the speak with them.” He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “But it appears they need you. And regardless of whether you can help them or not, I plan to use their influence to expedite the pardon I’ve sought from the Prince Regent. Both of these men are in a position to make that petition move forward.”

He took Grace’s cold fingers into his hand and brought them to his lips.

“Also, it’s possible they can shed some light on the motivation for the attack on you.”

She drew a deep breath. “Lead me to them.”

* * *

Grace was happy that Hugh was with her in that meeting. He was still concerned about her safety. His presence bolstered her confidence. Still, she had spent a lifetime learning how to deal with men of power, especially politicians. Sitting and listening to these two begin, Grace found that she was perfectly calm.

MacKay, Hugh’s clerk, was asked to wait outside because of the privileged nature of the conversation, and Captain Rivenhall hinted that Hugh’s presence might be questionable, as well. After receiving a deadly glare from the viscount, however, the two men exchanged a glance and proceeded, obviously deciding it would be futile to pursue that course.

“Our deepest condolences, Miss Ware, on the death of your father,” Sir Rupert offered solemnly. “Dreadful business in Antwerp.”

Grace had so many questions for these men regarding what had happened to the remains of her father and their servants. She wanted to know where were they buried and how these men had learned of the attack. But she followed Hugh’s example. Burying her emotions deep within, she donned a mask of indifference and waited. First and foremost, she needed to know what they were after.

Captain Rivenhall addressed the issue first. “As you may already know, this past winter, Colonel Ware directed two letters to our respective offices in Brussels and in Westminster.”

“The two missives were identical,” Sir Rupert added. “The colonel did not want any bureaucratic foolishness to hinder his message from reaching the proper authorities. He didn’t want his offer to be missed.”

“Your father’s letters were not missed, Miss Ware,” Captain Rivenhall said. “They attracted our immediate attention.”

“So you knew of Colonel Ware?” Hugh asked.

“Naturally,” Rivenhall replied. “It is in the greatest interest of the crown to keep track of those closest to Napoleon’s family. The colonel’s military record was well known to us, as was his continuing service to Joseph Bonaparte, the king of . . . the former king of Spain and Naples. His letter drew the attention of the highest levels of our government.”

“Why did the colonel contact you?” Hugh asked.

Captain Rivenhall hesitated to reply, but Sir Rupert did not. “Colonel Ware was seeking a pardon for himself and for his daughter.”

“A pardon?” Hugh asked.

Rivenhall spoke up. “Yes, he wanted an unconditional pardon, along with the return of properties belonging to himself in Ireland and to his late wife’s family in Scotland.”

Grace stared at the men. How was it possible that her father had actively pursued this and not spoken with her about it? They said he sent the letters during the winter. She thought about the wound to his leg. It was already worsening.

It wasn’t for himself that he was requesting the pardon, she realized. He knew he was dying. He was doing it for her.

“What was Colonel Ware giving you in return?” Hugh asked. “He wasn’t so naïve as to think the crown would grant him a pardon without offering something of value in exchange.”

“You’re correct,” Rivenhall replied. “He had in his possession something of interest to us.”

Grace thought of the diamond.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Hugh demanded.

“A letter,” Rivenhall replied after a long pause.

A letter. Not the diamond. All along, she’d thought the jewel was the cause of her father’s murder.

“A letter containing what?” he pressed.

Captain Rivenhall’s lips had formed a tight, thin line. His eyes searched the room for the answer he clearly didn’t want to give.

Grace’s mind raced. Of all the correspondence she wrote out for her father, several missives had contained sensitive information regarding Bonaparte business. But nothing was as important as to warrant what her father had requested . . . and what the British government was willing to grant.

“My father was carrying many letters and documents,” Grace told him. “You must be more specific, Captain. To which letter are you referring?”

“It’s a list,” Rivenhall told her grudgingly. “A list of names.”

“Names of whom?” Hugh demanded.

Sir Rupert spoke up. “Colonel Ware was to supply us with the code names of people working in the British government who supplied the French with sensitive information during the Peninsular campaign.”

“Englishmen? Working as spies for Napoleon?” the viscount asked.

“Yes, m’lord,” he replied. “We now have the key to trace them to individual operatives.”

Spies, Grace thought. Fighting between the nations had ceased, but many who betrayed their allegiance and worked for the enemy were still at large. In her mind’s eye, the painted face of Mrs. Douglas appeared. The woman who knew everyone. Who traveled in the highest circles of ministers and generals. Who socialized with their wives. Grace saw her and her husband, himself a minister in the British government, in Paris at the christening of Napoleon’s son. Her letter came back to Grace: old foes are now the closest of allies. She wondered if Mrs. Douglas’s name was on that list.

“The question still remains,” Captain Rivenhall said, directing his words at Grace, “whether you have the document.”

“We came here on the slimmest chance that you have it,” Sir Rupert explained. “When the bodies of the colonel and the others were found—and I beg your pardon for being so insensitive, Miss Ware—their personal belongings had been stolen. We don’t know if the document was taken by those villains. We only hope you have it.”

“This trip may have been for nothing,” Captain Rivenhall added. “But Sir Rupert felt that we must pursue every possibility, for the security of the realm.”

She had no such list. She had arrived with no letter. Grace exchanged a look with Hugh.

“And if she produces this document,” he asked, “what is she getting in return?”

“The pardon, of course. As agreed upon.”

This was the key to her future. She pressed her sweaty palms against her skirts.

“Where is this pardon? We’d like to see it.”

“Well,” Rivenhall replied. “We don’t have it with us. The document needed to be redrawn following the unfortunate death of Colonel Ware. We expect a rider to arrive with it from Westminster at any moment. But certainly you will take us on our honor that we—”

“Perhaps Miss Ware will accept your word, Captain, but I certainly do not.”

“M’lord, you are a peer of the realm and a Lord Justice of the King’s Bench. A decorated cavalry officer of the French wars. We would expect you, of anyone, to trust—”

“Because of all those titles you refer to, it is my duty not to trust you.”

Hugh raised himself to his full height, and Grace saw the lord justice emerge.

“You said that Colonel Ware sent a copy of his request to Westminster and to Brussels,” he said. “And that this letter was seen at the highest levels of government.”

“It was,” Rivenhall replied.

“And what steps were taken to ensure the safety of Colonel Ware when he arrived in Antwerp? What steps were taken to see that this valuable document did not fall into the wrong hands?”

The two men stared at Hugh as if they were struck dumb.

“Men died because Colonel Ware put his trust in you. You failed to protect them,” Hugh barked. “We have no reason to trust that you will even produce this pardon you promise. So when your rider arrives—if he indeed does arrive—you produce the pardon and Miss Ware will give you the list.”