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Madame turned on him, eyes flashing fury. “That man is a slave,” she hissed. “There is a brand on his arm.”

“That man was a slave,” Nate corrected her. “Not any longer. If his presence causes you pain⁠—”

“It is not my feelings you should consider,” she said with a slash of one hand. “He will have to stay here in this house. You cannot send him about London, even with the brand covered. If he were detained and the brand discovered, it would make things difficult for us. Slaves are uncommon in London.”

“He’s not a slave. Don’t worry, he won’t be going out with us. He can pose as a servant or a sailor when he does go out.”

She didn’t look pleased with this idea. “He does not act like the average servant.”

Nate was quiet for a moment. “Fine. I shall warn him to keep out of sight.”

She hesitated. Her eyes veered away, to the room behind her where her own maid still worked. She stepped closer and lowered her voice even more. “Mr. Avery, if this enterprise is to succeed, you must be honest with me. If you had told Mr. Stafford you had a Black man with you⁠—”

“It wouldn’t have made a damned bit of difference. Prince has other talents which render him invaluable, even to Stafford’s way of thinking.”

“Such as?”

Nate smiled and waved one hand. “This and that. You’ll have to trust me.”

She gave him a look that said trusting him was the last thing she wanted to do. “Very well—for now. We must arrange our story as soon as possible. So far I have had Lisette manage the servants. You might do the same.”

“They’re not Stafford’s people, then?” he asked, wondering if she would even know.

“No,” she said. “He is too tightfisted for that. They will clean and arrange the house, then go. We shall talk over tea.” Without waiting for approval, she turned and walked back into her room, closing the door between them.

Chapter Six

Angelique ignored Lisette’s raised eyebrows and resumed unpacking her things. Stafford still hadn’t given her a clear idea of how she was to play her part, so she had brought enough clothing to last a month. If anything about Stafford could be called endearing, it would be his willingness to pay for such an extensive wardrobe, all of which she got to keep—whatever wasn’t ruined in the course of the job, at any rate. But she’d better learn soon how fashionable she was supposed to be, so Lisette could retrim some bonnets and adjust the gowns.

At least Avery looked more presentable today. No more shapeless brown coats and lumpy boots; he looked quite English in a well-fitted green coat and gray trousers, his boots shined to a gleam. He cleaned up very well, she had to admit. It had given her a moment’s pause when she looked up to see him leaning so elegantly against her door.

Then he opened his mouth and dispelled whatever fleeting impression she’d had that this might be easier than expected. Dear wife, he called her in his rolling American voice. Darling. As if he was enjoying this charade far too much. She had a sense of humor, and certainly had nothing against flirting, but only when the work was taken very seriously. They were hunting a man, tracking him like an animal, and when they found him, she was supposed to kill him.

She reminded herself that Avery didn’t know that last bit, but he was an utter fool if he expected Dixon to be easily caught and subdued. No doubt chatting about politics in some well-appointed salon hadn’t shown him how dangerous a man could be when cornered.

There was some commotion in the corridor outside her door, and she looked up in time to see Avery’s companion stagger past, holding up one end of an enormous trunk. He was talking to Avery decidedly as an equal, and not as servant to employer. Even though she’d seen him already, the Black man was startling in appearance, with skin the color of dark mahogany and an accent she would wager came from the sugar plantations in the French Indies. He had exquisite manners and carried himself like no other servant, let alone slave, she had ever seen. They would have to have a good explanation for him, or they would be conspicuous in this neighborhood before breakfast tomorrow simply through the servants’ chatter.

Avery himself went by then, holding up the other end of the trunk. He had discarded his coat and rolled up his sleeves, exposing tanned muscular forearms. His hair was tied back today, and somehow it made him look leaner, stronger, and more dangerous. In Stafford’s office she had dismissed him as an unsophisticated, naive colonial, but something about him had changed since then, more than just his clothing. Angelique crossed the room and closed the door, not needing to see him parade up and down the corridor again.

“He bothers you, Madame,” said Lisette.

She lifted one shoulder. “He is but one of many things that bother me.” There was a loud thump from the bedroom next door, most likely the trunk hitting the floor, followed by the sound of cursing. She couldn’t make out the exact words, but Avery’s tone and inflection were clear even through the closed door. He was annoyed but not angry, and then he laughed. It was a nice sound, rich and carefree and honest.

“Americans are noisy,” sniffed Lisette, snapping Angelique out of her daze. She scowled as she realized she was standing stock-still, listening for the sound of his laughter. There was nothing funny about this. He shouldn’t be so lackadaisical about everything.

As disgusted with herself as she was with Avery, she stuffed her remaining clothing into the wardrobe and opened the last trunk. She lifted out her small writing desk, then the layer of books a lady of quality might read, and finally pulled up the false bottom. Underneath were her weapons, and somehow sliding her daggers out of their sheaths restored her composure. All her knives were weighted for throwing, since she was too petite to win a fight at close quarters against a man, and holding the hard, cold hilts made her feel clearheaded. It was deadly to be otherwise, with knives like these. She tested the edges of every one before replacing them in the leather sheaths, uncoiled her garrote and examined the rope, and finally checked the pistol, her least favorite item. Let Avery laugh and flirt his way through London; one of them had to be prepared for trouble.

When all was unpacked and the weapons safely stowed, she sent Lisette to arrange a light meal, then knocked on the door to Avery’s bedchamber.

He opened it himself, still in his shirtsleeves. “At last,” he said with a suggestive grin.

She ignored his words and the dimple in his cheek that only sprang into sight when he smiled. “I have sent my maid for something to eat,” she said. “If you are not otherwise occupied, we have things to discuss.”

“I am never otherwise occupied when my wife needs me,” he said. “Where shall we eat?”

“The dining room is the usual place, I believe.”

“Ah, but don’t we need some measure of privacy?” His voice dropped on the last word, becoming just a shade rougher and darker. Something inside her quivered at the sensual undertone even as her irritation spiked that he persisted in flirting with her.