The next day, Emily and Catharine, having promised Eric they wouldn’t go anywhere near the ocean, laid a luncheon picnic near the inland lake.

Catharine dipped her toes in the water. “I wish I knew how to swim,”

Emily let her legs dangle over the other side of the dock. “I could teach you.”

Catharine looked over her shoulder. “You, my dear, are endlessly surprising.”

“This is a good lake to learn in because it’s remarkably free of weeds.”

“You’ve swum in this lake?” Catharine pulled her legs out of the water and came to Emily’s side of the dock.

The urge to confess everything was overwhelming. She had the idea this was what women friends did—told each other their secrets. It had been an enormous relief to tell Eric about Mr. Manning and about her father, but of course she couldn’t tell him everything. She almost laughed as she conjured the image of talking to the earl about…himself. You have a very attractive chest, your lordship. Being clasped to it makes my insides feel all squishy.

“What’s so amusing?” demanded Catharine. “You’re keeping secrets, and I must know what they are!”

Emily covered her face with her hands and took the plunge. “I swam in this lake with Lord Blackstone.”

“What?” Emily would never have characterized Catharine as a shrieker, but she nearly had to remove her hands from her face and use them to cover her ears when Catharine followed up with an earsplitting, “When?”

“At the house party last month.” She spread her fingers and peeked out.

“Oh my God! If he debauched you, I will personally—”

“He didn’t debauch me!” Emily protested. At least not that time. “If there was any debauching going on that night—which there wasn’t—I would have been, the, uh…”

“Debaucher?” Catharine grinned, which went long way toward soothing Emily’s nerves.

“I don’t want to get married,” Emily explained quickly, wanting to put the confession into perspective.

“This is why you were asking about mistresses?”

Emily nodded. “I just wanted a little experience.”

Catharine sighed. “I suppose you picked the perfect man. He’ll be the model of discretion. But do you know how to prevent a child? Do you even know how it works?”

Emily’s cheeks heated. “Yes, I have, ah, read some materials on the subject.”

“God knows—”

“Anyway,” Emily raised her voice to interrupt, “the point is, I have swum in this lake before, which is why I can attest to the fact that it is the perfect lake in which to learn. I’ll help you!” She willed Catharine to accept the change of subject.

Catharine said no more, but pursed her lips as if to signal that the topic would not be dropped permanently. “When do we do this?” she asked. “I’m not submerging myself in this water when just anyone can walk by and watch me make a fool of myself.”

“You’ll want to swim in just your shift—a dress will drag you down, especially when you’re first learning, so the dark is best. We can go tonight, after we retire.”

Catharine smiled. “I do love an adventure.”

After they dried their feet and packed the remains of their lunch, Emily said quietly, “You won’t tell anyone? About what I’ve said, I mean.”

Catharine looked up from lacing up her boots. Her eyebrows shot up, as if she were shocked by the notion. “Of course not! What kind of friend would I be if I broke your confidence about such a private matter?” She stuck out a hand. “Help me up.”

Emily did, grinning. As they walked toward the house, Catharine kept Emily’s hand, swinging their arms back and forth as if they were girls. As if they were friends.

Blackstone and Bailey were sitting on the terrace watching the moon rise when a note arrived summoning them to the beach.

“Please tell me we can leave the ladies out of this,” said Bailey.

“Of course, we won’t awaken them,” Blackstone said.

“Good. I thought perhaps with all this, ‘She’s part of this now’ business, you might insist—”

“She is part of this, and I intend to keep her informed, but that doesn’t mean she needs to be tromping through the night to intercept one of most dangerous men in the world.” Blackstone suppressed a shudder.

He moved to the door, but Bailey remained where he was.

“Are you in love with her?” Bailey asked quietly.

The question hit him like a punch to the gut. “Of course not,” he managed after a few beats of silence.

“Because you’re allowed to be, you know.”

“Now is not the time to discuss this,” Blackstone snapped. “Le Cafard awaits.” He strode from the house, inexplicably angry, not caring whether Bailey followed.

Swimming under cover of night with Catharine was a lot less disquieting than doing so with Eric. As Catharine floated on her back, growing accustomed to the buoyancy of the water, Emily supported her, hands under her back.

The darkness must have made it easier to talk, because Catharine spun the most amazing tale of having worked on a mission with Eric—by posing as a courtesan. The unexpected twist had been to meet James, the reformer who became her husband.

“To think,” Emily marveled when her friend finished the improbable tale, “you were a spy!”

“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.” Catharine kicked her legs gently.

“That’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“Everyone?”

Emily ignored the insinuation. “It must be very hard to work for Lord Blackstone.” After it was out, she realized how lame the statement sounded. It was apparent that she was looking for an excuse to talk about him.

But Catharine seemed ready to indulge her. “It was indeed! He’s very…cold.” She chuckled a little. “Or at least he used to be.”

The darkness made her brave. “You and Mr. Burnham—you have a love match.”

“Yes.”

“How did you know?” she asked. “That he was the one, I mean?”

“It’s a good question. I found him very unsettling.”

Emily laughed. “Unsettling? In novels, it’s always like meeting the other half of your soul. You’re supposed to know at first sight.”

“It wasn’t like that at all! It was all very uncomfortable,” Catharine said thoughtfully. “I’d built my whole identity around being the kind of woman who didn’t get attached, who was unmoved by sentiment. I had a certain narrative about myself, you see, and I believed in it. And James upended everything.”

Emily felt a little stab of envy, but she shoved it aside. “You’re doing splendidly. I think you should turn over and add some arm movements.” Catharine righted herself and took hold of one of the dock’s posts as Emily demonstrated, propelling herself forward with an easy breaststroke.

When she returned to the dock, Catharine said, “Do you love him?”

Emily blinked, paralyzed by the question. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, she said, “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to marry.”

Catharine opened her mouth just as they heard the sound of twigs snapping. The water magnified the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

“Under the dock!” Emily urged, and they moved beneath its shelter. Huddling together, they listened to the crunching of gravel under feet—feet that were getting closer.

“You have to prepare yourself for the possibility that he won’t be on one of these boats. It’s a needle in a haystack.”

It was Mr. Bailey. Catharine’s face relaxed.

“We’ve been through so many haystacks already.” Eric. Just hearing his voice sped up Emily’s pulse. “It may not be this one, I grant you, but if not, it’s just a matter of waiting for him.”

Emily prayed the men would not notice their discarded clothing. It seemed impossible that the sound of her heart, which thundered in her own ears, would not give them away. But the voices grew quieter as the men retreated.

Catharine grabbed Emily’s hand. “We should sneak down to the shore.”

“We can’t!”

Ignoring Emily’s protest, Catharine pulled herself up the ladder and began donning her dress.

Emily scrambled up after her. “What are you doing?”

“This is the most excitement I’ve had in a long time.” Catharine turned her back to Emily in an unspoken request for her to button up her dress. “Everyone thinks being a reformer is so scandalous, but I tell you, it’s appallingly sedate.”

“You can’t be thinking of going down to the cove!”

“I am thinking of exactly that. We can watch from afar.” Catharine knelt and laced up one of Emily’s boots.

Emily could not deny that the prospect was exciting. Without Manning here, there was nothing to fear. And once they’d exposed Manning, she would have to go back to her dull, respectable life in town. She’d already been intimate with a gentleman. What was one more adventure before she went back to her books?

As they made their way down to the cove, Blackstone tried to prepare himself for the possibility that there would be nothing but brandy and silk aboard these first cutters.

As they picked their way along the path, he could see Manning’s men lined up along the shore. A few torches lent the scene an otherworldly effect as they threw odd patterns of shadows on the rocky walls of the cove. Some of the men were unloading cutters that had already come ashore.

The foreman walked over to greet them. “One boat has arrived. The other was delayed in port. We expect it tomorrow.”

Blackstone registered Bailey’s sigh of displeasure and followed the foreman’s gaze out to sea. It took a moment to make out two more cutters, which were not lit. The ship itself must be farther out, but it was too dark to see. He thought back to his one trip to France. When he’d been captured by Le Cafard’s men, he’d pleaded for them to turn him over to their master. All he’d wanted was to look his enemy in the eye. But his tormenter had been away from Paris—and now he was glad. If Le Cafard was on this boat, Blackstone would simply be the English aristocrat who had sold a piece of his soul for money. Because the Frenchman wouldn’t recognize him, he could be here personally to watch the bastard walk into his trap.

The last cutter bumped up against the rocks. Two of Manning’s men waded out to meet it, and a sailor hopped off. Together, the three men guided the craft in as close as they could. Silently, Manning’s men formed a line and began unloading crates, passing them from one man to another.

Blackstone glanced at Bailey briefly before returning his attention to the cutter. Just as he was about to resign himself to the fact that it bore only goods, a figure emerged from behind the line of men.

“My God,” Bailey whispered. “Is it going to be this easy?”

The man slogged through the water, head bowed. Judging by his greatcoat and top hat, he could be any English gentleman—which only ratcheted Blackstone’s anticipation up to greater heights. Surely a spy as slippery and talented as Le Cafard would chose his attire carefully so that he would look like any English gentleman.

As the man crossed the last few yards to the cove, he looked up. “I wager you’re surprised to see me.”

Disappointment ripped through his chest. Damn! He’d been so sure.

“Next time,” Bailey whispered.

“Mr. Talbot,” said Blackstone, not even bothering to stifle a resigned sigh. “You’re right, we weren’t expecting you.”

“No one was.” He shook water off his legs. “I was on the continent trying to establish a new source to meet our demand for brandy. Our former supplier recently met with an…untimely end.”

It made sense, Blackstone supposed. Talbot hadn’t been at the card game Bailey attended with Manning. But it rankled that Manning hadn’t even seen fit to mention that his son-in-law was abroad.

“Negotiations went well. My father-in-law will be surprised to see me back so soon.” Talbot looked around. “Is he here?”

“No,” said Blackstone. “He had urgent business in Bristol.”

In the process of looking for Manning, Talbot’s attention caught on something in the distance. He narrowed his eyes and his face changed. “Poorly done, Blackstone. If you haven’t some explanation for this—some explanation that involves you having obtained a special license while I was gone—I’ll see you at dawn.”

The man’s vitriol was sudden—and real. But how could he know about Emily? Was he even talking about Emily? Bewildered, Blackstone looked to Bailey, who nodded at a protrusion in the wall of the cove, a good thirty yards away. He watched an arm—no doubt Catharine’s—pull a familiar head of curls out of view.

“Miss Mirren is like a sister to me,” Talbot said.

“Mrs. Burnham, Miss Mirren! Please join us,” Bailey called, before turning to Blackstone “I think we’d better tell him the truth.”

Blackstone almost laughed. The truth? Your unmarried quasi-sister-in-law is here under the shaky chaperonage of an almost fallen woman because she and I have formed an alliance against your wife’s father? Oh, and also? I’ve ruined her.

“It’s about a school,” Bailey went on. “Mr. Manning won’t be pleased about it, but perhaps Mr. Talbot can be trusted to take a more liberated view of the matter.”

Ah! The old school story! “I’m beginning to have my own doubts, truth be told,” said Blackstone, picking up the lie. “The idea was sound, but the pair of them!” He shook his head. “They’re like naughty schoolgirls.” Turning to Talbot, he said, “Mrs. Burnham, I can almost understand—she does have a reputation. But was Miss Mirren always like this?”

Talbot tracked Emily’s progress as the women approached. If he noticed they both had wet hair, he didn’t remark on it. “She’s always been independent-minded.”

Blackstone watched Catharine note Mr. Talbot’s presence. “Blackstone!” she exclaimed theatrically. “Are you a smuggler? How exciting!”

“I can’t pretend to be pleased to see you here,” Blackstone ground out, and though he was performing for Talbot, it was not a lie.

“We were out for an evening walk, and we heard voices.” Catharine’s innocent expression could have landed her a job treading the boards.

“As you can see, ladies,” Blackstone said, “Mr. Talbot has seen fit to join us this evening. I’m afraid we’ve no choice but to tell him about the school.”

“It was my fault, Mr. Talbot!” Catharine stepped between him and Emily as she smiled brilliantly. “It was my idea.”

Catharine weaved an improbable tale of bringing a branch of her school to Clareford Manor. Emily was no slouch, either. She bowed her head in mock chagrin at the appropriate times and interjected the occasional indignant correction. He could almost believe the unlikely story himself. It was easy to imagine her turning her crusading heart toward the cause of educating the pauper children of Essex.

Blackstone glared at the women, his irritation unmanufactured. “The question remains, why are you here now? We’re here at the estate to investigate the possibility of the school, but you’re supposed to be back at the house now, fast asleep.”

He must have been convincing, because Talbot moved between him and the women, even as they unleashed a string of apologies. When Talbot held up a hand, they fell silent.

“Miss Mirren.” Talbot looked at Emily. “Do you know what I’m doing here?”

Blackstone recognized the flash of panic in her eyes. She didn’t know how to answer. But before she had to, Talbot spoke again. “No. The answer is no. You don’t know what I’m doing here. You never even saw me here. Just like I never saw you here.”

She nodded, eyes wide.

“I’m not an idiot, Miss Mirren. I know you have radical tendencies. I might even share some of them myself, were the situation different. As it stands, though, I have responsibilities. I know you can’t approve of any of this, just like I can’t approve of Sarah’s closest friend being here with these…” He glanced back to Blackstone and Bailey and finally said, “Gentleman,” though the slow drawl he used to extend the word suggested he thought they were anything but. “The best way forward is for me to keep your secret and you to keep mine. Are we agreed?”

“Yes,” she said. “We will keep each other’s secrets.”

“That was a near miss,” Catharine whispered to Emily as the group set out toward the house. Her friend seemed exhilarated by the events of the evening, but Emily felt sick. Knowing they might have endangered the mission made her ashamed. They had been reckless. Just because Manning himself wasn’t present didn’t mean they needed to take unnecessary risks.

Her primary concern at the moment was avoiding Eric. He would be angry, and rightfully so. She kept her eyes on him as he walked ahead with the men. Of course, she would eventually have to face his displeasure, but a night of sleep would cool everyone’s tempers. She owed him an apology, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to deliver it until tomorrow.

Eric’s long strides set the pace for the men. He had a way of subtly controlling the people around him. He had been magnificent back there, striking just the right emotional tone to make Mr. Talbot believe his story. It was easy to see why he’d been so successful in his chosen profession—he was tuned into nuance and sensitive to the slightest emotional shifts. The more she got to know him, the more it hurt to think of him as a boy, alone on this big estate, painfully aware of his mother’s indifference.

“Perhaps I should get back into spying,” Catharine said. “That was the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

Before Emily could hush Catharine, Eric fell back from the men. Her heart skittered as he turned and stopped, waiting for them to catch up. His eyes found hers and stuck there. It was impossible to gauge his mood. The intensity of his gaze was like a physical burden, one that made continuing to place one foot in front of the other increasingly difficult.

Though Emily couldn’t tear her eyes from Eric’s, she felt Catharine look between her and Eric. “Oh, my.”

Only then did Eric shift his attention to Catharine. Expressionless, he extended an arm. “Mrs. Burnham, may I have a word?” Another of his questions that wasn’t really a question.

Without another glance at Emily, he led Catharine ahead. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?” she heard him say. It seemed Emily had earned a reprieve, though the fierceness of his long, fixed stare just now assured her it was only a temporary one.

As the pair caught up to the other men, Mr. Talbot glanced back. Seeing Emily alone, he doubled back and fell into step beside her. She didn’t know what to make of him. What had he meant when he’d said he might share her radical tendencies had the situation been different? She sneaked a glance at him, trying to think what she knew about his life before marrying Sarah. He’d been one of several of Sarah’s beaux, and then, when Sarah accepted his suit at the village fair that awful night, Emily had thought of him briefly as the mechanism of her salvation. With Sarah married and out of harm’s way, she could leave Somerset and unleash her plan to bring about Mr. Manning’s downfall.

“Miss Mirren?” He spoke quietly, hesitantly. He was so average looking. An unremarkable man in every way—brown hair, brown eyes, medium build. “May I confess something?”

“By all means.” What an unusual night this was turning out to be.

“You will recall that I worked as a barrister before I married Sarah.”

“Mmm.” She didn’t recall—he really had been the least memorable of the men vying for Sarah’s attention. Emily had always assumed her friend chose him because of his superior ability to listen to her talk.

“My aunt paid for me to study at the Inns of Court. If she had not, I might have ended up the sort of boy who would need to attend your school.” This last bit he spoke extremely rapidly, as if willing the words to tumble out as fast as possible.

“Indeed?” She could not hide her surprise. Perhaps she should have paid more attention as Sarah mooned over her betrothed.

“When my parents died, my mother’s sister was my only relation. She was well to do but had been estranged from my mother. The details are not important, but before it was all sorted out that I should go to live with her, I faced the prospect of being turned out onto the streets. The vicar had begun seeking a parish apprenticeship for me.”

Emily was shocked. “Parish apprentices have horrible lives—that’s what Mrs. Burnham is trying to change, with her school.”

“I know.” He bowed his head, and they walked on in silence for few moments. “I tell you this because I want you to know that I am not indifferent to human suffering.”

Was he making a roundabout reference to the slave trade? She had to tread carefully. “There are so many ways we humans inflict pain upon one another, are there not? It can be difficult to know where to begin trying to ameliorate it.”

He nodded without looking at her as they continued to walk. “When I am in charge of Manning Shipping, things will be different,” he whispered.

“I’m glad,” Emily said carefully, but beneath her noncommittal reply, her mind raced.

Suddenly, he stopped and turned to face her, eyes a little wild. His chest rose as he sucked in a great breath. “If my father-in-law has gone to Bristol suddenly, it’s for a very specific reason—a ship bound for America.”

“I understand the company does quite well exporting clothing and textiles, and bringing back raw cotton.” Picked by slaves, she refrained from adding.

He nodded vigorously. “Yes. That route is well established. It practically runs itself.” He took another deep breath, as if fortifying himself for a great exertion. “If Mr. Manning has gone there, it’s because of a very specific piece of cargo he wants to oversee himself. To make sure it gets aboard—and stays aboard. To make sure it leaves England. To make sure he leaves England.”

Oh, dear God. “You can’t mean…”

“Yes. That poor bastard he beat that night.” His eyes narrowed. “He’s bought him back, and he’s sending him to America. I’ll never forgive him for ruining what should have been a joyous occasion for my Sarah and me.”

Emily held herself back from remarking that a marred engagement hardly signified when two humans had been whipped like so many cattle, and one had been torn from his home. But it was more important to focus on the astonishing revelation that she had an ally. And he had been under her nose all this time.

More importantly, she knew where Billy was right now.

Clamping her hand down on his forearm so hard that he winced, she said, “I must go to Bristol. I must go now!” Hearing the desperation in her voice, she forced herself to relax her grip. Telling her about Billy was one thing. Helping her rescue a captive aboard a ship bound for America was quite another, especially when it would mean defying the man who held the reins of the company he stood to inherit. There was no reason to believe he would help her.

But she had to try. They were almost at the house, and as they stepped into the circle of light cast by torches the servants had lit, she said, “Please, Mr. Talbot, will you take me?”

He looked straight ahead, and for a moment she thought he wasn’t even going to acknowledge her question. Then she watched, fascinated, as a shadow passed over his face. She recognized that emotion. It was hatred—and it took her breath away.

Without turning to her, he said, “Yes.”