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It wouldn’t make her work with him, though.

She clasped her hands in her lap and assumed an expression of pained regret. “I do not think my talents are suited to this task. I am certain⁠—”

“We must act quickly before Mr. Dixon has a chance to disappear into the country,” went on Stafford over her words, as if she hadn’t spoken. “His family comes originally from Essex, although Mr. Avery believes there are no members remaining there. The sooner he is found, the better.” The spymaster’s eyes flashed at her.

Angelique sat like a stone, her face a smooth mask. He had heard her begin to protest; he knew she would refuse. For some reason he was carrying on as if it were otherwise, which portended nothing good. She sat in tense silence and waited.

“You shall be man and wife. Mr. Avery, a wealthy American looking for investors. You, his discontented wife.” Stafford’s gaze darted from one to the other. “Between the two of you, one should be able to discover Dixon’s location and loosen his tongue.”

Angelique loosened her own tongue. “No.”

Unperturbed, Stafford rose. “Mr. Avery, would you be so kind as to excuse us? I will contact you in the morning about how we shall proceed.”

“Of course,” the man muttered, jumping to his feet. “My thanks for your time, sir. Madame.” He bowed slightly in her direction and left. The door opened, then closed behind him with a soft click.

Angelique didn’t even look after him. She didn’t care what he thought, the arrogant idiot. “How dare you,” she began coldly. “He is an amateur—and you wish me to go as his wife? No.”

Her employer held up one hand as he resumed his seat. “Do you think I just dreamed up this plan on a whim? It has been carefully crafted, I assure you. Contain your temper a moment and listen.”

Angelique raised her eyebrows, unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a manner.

Stafford leaned forward and lowered his voice. “This man Dixon is a grave menace. We want him found, and you are the person to do it.”

“All this, over money?” she snapped. “Have Ian snatch him off the street, and tell him not to be gentle. Two hours with Ian and he will desecrate his own mother’s grave to return every farthing.”

“No, it’s not about the money.” Stafford leaned back and clasped his hands on his desk. “Avery can find it, or not. I agreed to try to get his government’s funds, but if it comes to naught…” He shrugged. “I don’t care if he never sees a penny of it again.”

“So you would send me off like some errand boy, when you do not even care if the funds are returned.” She shook her head and started to rise from her chair. “Find someone else. I have no interest.”

“Wait,” he said sharply. “I need you to find Dixon.”

“Why?” She tilted her chin in scorn. “There is nothing in this task that someone else could not do. You knew I would not like being sent out with him, let alone as his wife. If I must work with someone, I prefer it to be someone who knows what he is doing. I will spend the whole time looking after this American adventurer!”

“Dixon is reputedly a man of expensive tastes. He likes beautiful women. I am quite sure you will be able to use that to your advantage.” His tone of voice intimated exactly how she could do it.

“How does that make him different from any other man?” She shrugged. “You have other spies willing to whore for you.”

“Not like you.”

“Send Ian along with one of them. He is all too willing to play a husband, and he will not look down his nose at a woman doing her job.”

“But Avery must be there, and the simplest pose is as your husband. He alone knows what Dixon looks like, what his habits and tastes are, the details of his recent life and crimes. Without his involvement we would be searching in the dark. If he’s there as your husband, he will be able to remain close to you, and offer plenty of opportunity for you to confer. Not,” he added dryly, “that I don’t appreciate Mr. Wallace’s talents as well.”

He wouldn’t send Ian. Angelique gave it up and changed her attack. “Who is this Avery?”

“An envoy of President Monroe, properly credentialed. I believe he is from a prominent American family.”

“In other words, he has a patronage post and thinks to play at being a spy.” She shook her head. “Who is Dixon, that you jump to find him on the word of such a man? And for such a motive—I see nothing in this for the Crown, nothing.” Stafford just looked at her. She knew that smooth, opaque expression, though, and was having none of it. “You have lied to me before,” she reminded him. “And I will not tolerate it again.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk, then surged to his feet and paced to the window. “I take issue with your use of the word ‘lie,’” he said over his shoulder. “But no matter. I never swore to reveal all, and you agreed to that. I need someone who will follow my orders, not question every facet of them, and you knew that years ago.”

“It almost cost two men their lives,” she retorted. “I never agreed to that. How am I to know I am not the next agent to be sacrificed?”

He stood a moment more at the window, hands tightly clasped behind him. “All right,” he growled, turning abruptly. “This is what I can tell you: you are to find Dixon as soon as humanly possible. Do what you must to keep Avery in line, but once he has his money, dispatch him on his way at once.”

“And then?” she prodded when he hesitated.

“And then…” Stafford paused again. “Kill Jacob Dixon.”