From the envoys’ ease in conversing with Lord Aytoun, who was present in place of his son, Grace decided that Elliot and Rivenhall must have found the older nobleman far more congenial than his hot-blooded son. She glanced around the library. Hugh’s clerk Mr. MacKay was sitting at a table off to the side and listening attentively, pen in hand, to every word. Apparently, their discomfort yesterday with disclosing the details of their mission had diminished.

“As you know, your lordship, the Prince of Wales feels a kindred connection with the Stuart monarchs of the past,” Sir Rupert was saying. “Granting Miss Ware a pardon has never been an issue. Many of the Scottish Jacobite families have been restored to their lands and titles.”

The envoy continued to talk, but Grace saw him constantly glancing at the folded document on her lap. She realized she was eyeing the letter in Captain Rivenhall’s hand with the same intensity. A game of exchange was about to be played.

The earl finally interrupted. “Gentlemen, I assume what you have in your hands is a free, full, and general pardon for Miss Ware, for all treasons, rebellion, and offences whatsoever.” He stretched out his hand for the letter.

“Quite so, m’lord,” Captain Rivenhall replied, handing it to him.

“And it includes the opportunity for Miss Ware to request a pension in the future,” Sir Rupert added. “If she so chooses.”

While they waited for the earl to read the document, the two men focused all their attention on Grace. If she and Hugh were right—if Sir Rupert Elliot was the man orchestrating the earlier attacks—he was doing an excellent job of keeping his expression natural. An implacable demeanor under pressure certainly had to be a requirement for a spy, she thought.

“I was asked by Lord Greysteil,” she said, “to pass on his apologies for the unavoidable delay of joining us. I’m sure the viscount will be along shortly.”

Captain Rivenhall’s gaze remained on Grace’s part of the bargain, still sitting on her lap. “Miss Ware, Mr. MacKay only provided us with the cursory details, but we cannot tell you how fortunate we feel that this correspondence of your father’s survived the horrifying crossing you endured.”

“Yes, it was fortunate for all of us that I happened to be carrying it in my reticule. As you know, Colonel Ware had complete confidence in me. During the years leading up to his passing, he entrusted me with everything of value when we traveled.”

Both men looked at the earl when he shifted in his chair and then settled back again. He was clearly taking his time reading the pardon.

“I should tell you that I did break the seal when I arrived at Baronsford,” she told them. “But the list of names—the code names—meant nothing to me until you arrived looking for it. I’m quite overjoyed that I didn’t dispose of it.”

The two men glanced at Lord Aytoun, and Grace noticed that Sir Rupert’s foot was beginning to tap on the floor. Captain Rivenhall’s knuckles were white from the grip he had on his chair; he appeared no less impatient with how long it was taking the earl to finish his reading.

* * *

Hugh motioned to his clerk to continue recording the conversation as Mrs. Douglas began to rant about her supposed ill treatment.

“I was forcibly removed from the ship, defying all conventions of dignity and courtesy. I was thoroughly humiliated before other passengers, who looked on aghast as that twit sitting over there read out false charges against me.”

“You registered for that voyage under a false name,” Branson commented.

“Is that a crime?” the woman snapped. “Because of the high-ranking position of my dear, departed husband, and the invaluable service he provided our nation at a time when it was most needed—service that caused him to damage his health irrevocably, I might add—I have always traveled under an assumed name. You don’t know how difficult it is to constantly be celebrated for the work I was a part of. Yes, a part of! I held him up, supported him in every way. And this is what I am now subjected to? Brutishly manhandled. Publicly humiliated. Dragged through the streets in shackles. Shamed to the point that I don’t know if I shall ever recover.”

“No shackles, m’lord,” Branson noted. “We used no shackles.”

“Don’t you know who I am? Who my friends are? Let me tell you, the Prince Regent himself will hear of this. And when he does, the wrath of God will descend on your miserable heads. You will grovel in the depths of the filthiest prisons in the land. You will beg for my intercession with the courts, and I shall spurn you like the dogs you are.”

“May I speak now?” Hugh finally had enough of it.

His tone was sharp enough to silence the woman momentarily.

“You were taken into custody on my orders,” Hugh started. “You were brought here where you will be charged with crimes related to the attempted abduction of Miss Grace Ware and the grievous injuries sustained by my blacksmith, Mr. Darby. Your manservant has been identified as—”

“This is madness. If he was involved with this at all, the man acted alone. I have no connection with him. Upon my departure from Nithsdale Hall, he left my service. I’ve not seen him since and have no desire to. He worked in my employ as a manservant. That’s all. No, you have no reason for holding me. I demand that you release me immediately.”

Hugh leaned back in his chair, studying the woman’s sour expression.

“The charges I’ve mentioned are nothing compared to what you will face when I transport you to London. The ill use you have allegedly been forced to endure will not hold a candle to the treatment you will receive on the gallows.”

Whatever blood remained in her pale face drained completely away.

“Let me explain to you what we already know.” Hugh pointed at the door. “Just down this hallway, Miss Ware has in her possession a letter containing more than two dozen names of English subjects who provided information and assistance to Napoleon as he pursued his dreams of conquest. The British government plans to ferret out each and every spy whose treasonous efforts cost the lives of our soldiers. Your name is on that list, Mrs. Douglas, as is the name of a gentleman who has traveled here from Brussels, a friend of yours.”

As Hugh looked at her, it occurred to him that if her face had not been painted so carefully, her very features would have fallen to pieces and landed in her lap.

“In my library at this very moment,” he continued, “this friend of yours is providing testimony intended to save his neck from the hangman’s noose. The gentleman has accused you of masterminding the attack in Antwerp that resulted in the murders of Colonel Ware and his servants. By the time you leave here, you will not only be facing charges of high treason, espionage, kidnapping, and assault, but murder, as well. I believe the courts in London will only be sorry they can hang you but once, and the Prince Regent will sign your death warrant himself.”

“This is all a lie,” she gasped. “You cannot do this. It’s a lie.”

Hugh motioned to Branson to go, then pushed to his feet.

“Who?” she demanded, trying to keep the note of panic out of her voice. “Who is inventing such malicious lies?”

“You know who it is,” he replied coolly. “But perhaps you’d prefer to read for yourself Sir Rupert Elliot’s testimony, as recorded by my clerk, Mr. MacKay, and witnessed by his lordship, the honorable Earl of Aytoun.”

* * *

Grace felt her heart drumming a tattoo as she saw Mr. Branson come into the library and move over to stand by Hugh’s other clerk. She prayed their deductions were correct, but there was still a chance that the names of both men were on the list.

With the entrance of the clerk, Sir Rupert stood and stalked to the window, no longer trying to hide his impatience.

“Since you gentlemen are staying in the village, perhaps you heard about the attack on the road to Baronsford last week,” she said.

“No, mistress, we haven’t been here long enough to hear any of the local news,” Rivenhall replied and turned to the earl before she could continue. “M’lord, we appreciate your thoroughness in this matter, but the pardon is quite clear and straightforward.”

“As clear and straightforward as any government document can be, Captain,” Lord Aytoun responded.

“Then are you satisfied with it, m’lord?”

“Yes, this will do,” he said, placing it on the table beside him. He turned his attention to Grace. “You were just speaking about the harrowing attempt to abduct you, Miss Ware.”

Rivenhall’s attention turned back to her. She could feel Sir Rupert’s eyes on her as well.

“You were attacked here, Miss Ware?” Rivenhall repeated.

If the man’s surprise was pretended, then Grace decided he was the finest actor in Europe.

“That’s correct, Captain. And of course, we now know the reason for the attempted abduction is right here.” She held up the folded document.

Lord Aytoun leaned forward. “And Mrs. Mariah Douglas, wife of the late Cabinet minister, was behind it,” he said with a shake of his head. “Difficult to believe.”

“You’re saying that Mrs. Douglas was working for the French?” Rivenhall asked. “Have the authorities apprehended her?”

“Indeed they have.”

Grace knew the earl’s words were being taken as fact.

“My son was informed of Mrs. Douglas’s desire to cooperate fully. She’s in the viscount’s study with the bailiff right now. I believe you were with them recording her statement, Mr. Branson.”

The clerk nodded, holding up a sheaf of papers.

“She’s admitted her involvement?” Rivenhall exclaimed.

“The timing of your visit here is quite fortuitous, Captain,” Grace said, turning casually to look for Sir Rupert. He was still looking on from the window.

“You’ll have the opportunity to hear the sworn statement Mrs. Douglas has agreed to give in exchange for a pardon for herself,” the earl added. “She’s offering solid evidence as well as the identification of her accomplices.”

“This news is astound—”

Before Rivenhall could complete his sentence, the library door opened. Grace and the others stood as Hugh and Mrs. Douglas entered, flanked by two footmen.

The woman’s pale face took in everyone in the room before fixing a look of cold fury on the man behind Grace.

Before she could even turn, the room erupted.

As the hand closed on her arm like a band of steel, Grace cursed herself for allowing Sir Rupert to get behind her. How many times had her father told her of the value of flanking the foe when a diversion engages their attention elsewhere. Grace felt the knife blade pressed to her throat as she was jerked backward.

“Let her go,” Hugh shouted.

The entire room became a moving tableau. Hugh and Lord Aytoun charged across the library toward them as Rivenhall stood stock still, a stunned look on his face. Mrs. Douglas’s expression of fury was replaced with wide-eyed surprise. MacKay had half risen from his chair, upsetting the inkstand, and the papers in Branson’s hand spread out on the floor around him.

Sir Rupert yanked her away from the two men.

“You’re a fool, Mariah,” he spat. “Stay where you are, Greysteil, or this one is a dead woman.”

Hugh’s face darkened with rage.

Grace felt the keen edge of the blade against her skin. This wasn’t happening. She had survived Antwerp, the arduous journey in darkness, the fevers, the attack on the lane . . . just to have it end now? It had taken her a lifetime to find Hugh, and now she was to be wrested from his arms. If this blackguard took her from here, Grace knew he would kill her with as little hesitation as they’d killed her father and the others.

After all she’d lost and now gained—after finding love—now death would claim her?

“What are you doing?” Rivenhall shouted. “Put the knife down. Release her.”

Elliot ignored the orders and moved toward the door.

“You can’t escape,” Lord Aytoun growled.

“I can and I shall,” Elliot snapped. “Greysteil, the two of you will escort us to the carriage that brought us here. Miss Ware and I shall leave unmolested, and no one will follow us. If I so much as see a hay cart in pursuit of us, she will die.”

“This is madness, Elliot,” Rivenhall said. “This must stop now.”

Hugh inched closer. “You will not be leaving here. You don’t seriously think I’d allow you to take her out of here.”

Fight. The words of her father rang in her ears. Always fight. Never allow yourself to become the prey. Fight. She was no weak and passive victim. She would rather die here in Hugh’s arms than in the darkness of a shuttered carriage, only to have her body tossed out along the road.

Smashing her heel down as hard as she could on her attacker’s booted foot, Grace ducked to the side, feeling the blade nick her jaw as she dropped down.

That was all that was needed.

Grace felt her arm break free and she stumbled out of the way as Hugh flew at Elliot. The massive fist that crashed into the envoy’s face drove him back toward the wall. Before he could right himself, more blows rained down on him.

The knife lay at Grace’s feet and she picked it up as she backed away.

Hugh pounded Elliot with both hands, snapping his head back with every lashing blow. The man’s knees collapsed beneath him and he sagged unconscious to the floor. Hugh was standing over him as the two footmen rushed to help. Across the room, Mrs. Douglas sank into a chair. Lord Aytoun was watching Captain Rivenhall warily, but the man stood in a state of shock.

Hugh rushed over and took Grace into his arms.

“You’re hurt.”

“No, I’m fine.”

His worried eyes scanned her face and neck for injuries. He wasn’t believing her. “He cut you. The edge of the knife . . .”

“It was nothing. Truly.” She had to take his cheeks in her hands and force him to look into her eyes to get his attention. “It’s over, Hugh. You saved me.”

He caressed her face, his thumb running across the place where she’d felt the knife press against her skin. “My brave fighter. My warrior. This is twice now where your fearlessness has shone through. I can’t tell you how proud you make me.”

“You’re giving me too much credit.” She smiled up at him. “Each time, you were the one who saved my life.”

“I could not have done it without you.” His arms tightened around her. His lips brushed against her hair. She heard him take a deep breath. “Your courage . . . so impressive. Facing Elliot, I knew you wouldn’t stand and do nothing. I feared for your safety, but I was certain you would dive into the fight.”

Grace understood his fears. And she was relieved that he saw her as herself and not vulnerable as Amelia had been. What they had was a different path, fraught with new challenges and trials.

“And I was sure that you’d finish whatever I started.”

“We are a match, you and I,” he whispered against her lips. “You complete me.”

Grace pressed her lips against his, overwhelmed with the rush of emotion. He was her love, her partner, and soon to be her husband. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

He was hers as she was his. Forever.

* * *

The following day, Captain Rivenhall met with Grace and Hugh before he departed for London.

“I cannot tell you how sorry I am for our failure to secure the safety of your party when you landed in Antwerp,” he told Grace. “The Foreign Office has been operating under the assumption that the list would be comprised of military officers. We were focusing on men Colonel Ware might have become aware of during his time in the Peninsular campaign. We didn’t expect the danger to come from within.”

“Frightening that the treachery of Sir Rupert Elliot and Mrs. Douglas could have gone undetected,” Hugh said.

“When Westminster hears this news, a tidal wave will sweep through the Foreign Office. This list will undoubtedly produce a number of shocks.” Rivenhall turned to Grace. “On behalf of the crown, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. Your father’s sacrifice will be remembered.”

“About the source of the names,” Grace said, having thought about it last night. “I believe my father may have come across this list recently. As you know, he had been working in the service of Napoleon’s brother in America. I don’t know how he got it, but he obviously didn’t know the true identities of these people or he wouldn’t have addressed one of the letters to the envoy in Brussels.”

“Are you saying it’s possible this list was delivered with Joseph Bonaparte’s knowledge?”

“I cannot say. I can tell you that King Joseph—or Count Survilliers, as he is known now—wants nothing to do with those still loyal to his brother. He has been cutting political ties on every side. Perhaps you heard rumors that he was offered the throne of Mexico, but that he refused it.”

“Yes, we heard that,” Rivenhall replied.

“It’s true,” Grace affirmed. “He is withdrawing from politics. He only wants his family to live free of any further turmoil. The government of America has offered him just such a sanctuary.”

Grace had learned so much in her months in King Joseph’s company. He didn’t share his brother’s ambitions.

“My father’s remains. What happened to him?”

“Oh yes. By the time I found out about the colonel’s demise, Queen Julie’s people had already learned of the murder and had taken possession of the bodies. Your father is buried in Brussels, Miss Ware.”

“I’m glad,” she said softly, hoping that since they hadn’t arrived as expected, Queen Julie would have gone out looking for them.

“That was another reason why I was convinced the list was gone,” Rivenhall added. “We thought that whoever was responsible for the attack in Antwerp had the list. Beyond that, we assumed Queen Julie had recovered it, and it was lost to us in any case.”

“Only Elliot knew the truth,” Hugh said. “That’s why he wrote to Mrs. Douglas, alerting her to come to the Borders.”

“And insisted that we come here as well,” Rivenhall added.

“What will become of these two?” Grace asked. “And the others on the list?”

Hugh and the captain exchanged a look.

“I think it’s safe to say neither one will ever bother you again, Miss Ware,” Rivenhall told her. “Sir Rupert and Mrs. Douglas will be tried and punished for their crimes. They have a great deal to answer for.”