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But nothing had happened to reassure her that killing Dixon was the right thing to do, and everything Nate did made her want to see him succeed, even though his success would still mean he left her. At least if he boarded his ship for America with his goal accomplished, she could say good-bye knowing she hadn’t betrayed him and cheated him of the prize he sought.

She glanced at his profile from beneath her eyelashes. His clear, level gaze was fixed forward, taking in everything around them. No doubt he was watching for Dixon, never realizing that the greatest threat to completing his mission was Angelique herself. She looked away before he could catch her staring, and blinked back an unexpected rush of feeling. She didn’t know how to untangle this knot, but she couldn’t pity herself for facing it, just as she couldn’t truly regret accepting this wretched assignment. If she hadn’t, she would have never known Nate, and that would have been the greatest loss of all.

That thought brought her up short. What was this man doing to her? I thought you would kill me, echoed her own voice in her memory. He had laughed; he thought she meant with pleasure, which was not unreasonable given how thoroughly he’d made love to her. But it was worse than that. Whether he knew it or not, he was burrowing relentlessly through the hard, cold fortress around her heart. Every kiss, every bit of rapture he wrung from her body with his wicked, talented hands, every hour of tenderness when he held her in his arms as if he would protect her from the world, chipped away a little more of that protection. Everything she did to try to reinforce her fortress, he managed to undo. And instead of being furious that he was making her feel things she most emphatically did not want to feel—for him, of all people—she felt rather like a girl, silly in love but so happy she didn’t mind being silly. Angelique, who was never silly, was baffled to find she liked being silly with him.

That would all come to a crashing halt when she put her knife into Jacob Dixon. Nate would be shocked and furious at her betrayal, and she would have no reasonable explanation to give him. Damn Stafford. If he’d explained himself—to her or to Nate—at least she could be honest about her true intent. The secret was festering inside her like a parasite she could almost feel devouring her.

Perhaps she wouldn’t do it. John Stafford wasn’t standing behind her, compelling her to act. Angelique thought about that for a while. She didn’t think Dixon deserved to die. All she had heard about him had been from Nate, and she still thought fraud and embezzlement deserved what Nate planned: a lengthy stay in prison. All she had to do was…nothing. Continue as before until they had Dixon, then simply forget to kill him and let Nate sail away with him as planned.

But that would leave her behind to face John Stafford. This job was very important to him. Not only had he pressed her to take it in the first place, now he’d sent Ian to see why she hadn’t completed it yet. Perhaps she should resign immediately, tell him she’d had no luck finding Dixon and quit on the spot. She discarded that idea at once, as it would leave Nate to deal with an angry spymaster, and who knew what he would do. Above all, she didn’t want to bring trouble on Nate. He might think Stafford was just a clerk, assigning spies to carry out orders from above, but she knew better. John Stafford was a dangerous man, especially when crossed.

The last option was to tell Nate what Stafford had ordered her to do. It would be the fairest thing to Nate, and it would ease her growing discomfort over keeping it from him. But it would expose her for what she really was—a hired killer—and she couldn’t bear to see the look on his face when he realized it. He would recoil from her in disgust, sorry he had ever flirted and teased and laughed his way into her heart and her bed, and then he would leave her behind.

There was no option that didn’t end with him leaving her. She knew it and must brace herself for it.

Well. Until they had Dixon, there was no choice to be made. Now that Ian was here, things would slip from her control, and Nate would discover it in a few days, one way or another. Until then… She was a coward and a thief, keeping that ugly secret, but she was also too selfish to stop. Let her enjoy these final few days of happiness. They might be all she had left.

Chapter Twenty-Four

When they reached the house in Varden Street, Angelique silently hung up her bonnet and pelisse and started up the stairs. Ian would arrive soon, if he wasn’t already down in the kitchen trying to wheedle some ale and a piece of kidney pie from Lisette. Perhaps he would know something, or have some further instruction from Stafford. If the fates were kind, Ian would have come to tell her that Stafford no longer wanted Dixon dead, that she was free to help Nate fully in every way.

But fate had never been that kind to Angelique, and it was more a wish than a hope.

Nate followed her upstairs. “Shall I have Lisette set out some refreshment?” she asked when they had reached the landing outside the bedchambers.

He was staring at her door with a slight frown. “No,” he murmured absently. “Not yet. Are you tired?”

She nodded. “A little. Perhaps I shall lie down.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it and gave a nod. Without a word he turned and went into his room, closing the door.

Already she felt bereft when he left, and she was merely standing in the hall alone. How much worse would it be when she knew he was gone, not just on the other side of a door but on the other side of an ocean? She sighed and went into her room. The afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows, drawing two dazzlingly bright squares on the floor and leaving the rest of the room in shadow. It was very warm, and she went to open the window.

She heard the barest footstep before the man spoke. “Nice to see you again, lass.”

Angelique smiled and shook her head. Thank goodness he’d given himself away. Ian would have never let her hear the end of it if he’d managed to catch her off guard. “Must you persist in trying to sneak up on me, Ian? It is not necessary.”

Ian grinned. He was leaning against the wardrobe, cloaked in shadows. “Nae, but ’tis entertaining.”

“The words of a man whose life is a drudgery.” She paused, pulling off her gloves and laying them in a drawer of her dressing table. “Why are you here?”

He came to stand beside her. The American knife Nate had given her was on the dressing table. Ian picked it up and drew it, a thin frown knitting his brows. “You know why. The usual reasons.”

“Explain them to us all,” said a quiet voice.

Angelique started. It seemed to have come from nowhere. She hadn’t heard the door, or a footstep, or seen a flutter of movement in the mirror she faced. Ian froze. The knife sheath fell from his hand, but not the knife.

“Easy, now,” said Ian quietly. His fingers curled about the hilt.

“Stop,” said Angelique at the same moment. “He is a friend.”

“Then he should put down the knife he just drew.”

Ian darted her a shocked glance, but she reached out and took the knife from him. “Nate, you have heard me speak of Ian Wallace. Ian, this is Nathaniel Avery.” She gestured behind him.

With a little jerk forward, Ian turned. Nate lowered the small, sharp blade he had held to the back of Ian’s neck. Neither man smiled.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Nate said after a moment.