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“Aye,” growled Ian. His face was flushed dark red. He looked enormous, towering over Nate by several inches, all brawny muscle and Scottish temper. And yet Nate had stolen up behind him so quietly neither one of them heard him. Angelique had heard Ian shifting his weight before he spoke. She would have to ask how Nate had managed that…some other time.

“It is a Wyandot knife,” she said, holding it up for Ian’s inspection. “They are a native people in America. Nate gave it to me as a gift.”

“Hmph.” Ian still eyed Nate with dislike. “An odd gift to give.”

“And unique. I have never seen the like in England.” She slid the knife back into the sheath and put it down. “I presume you have not come to discuss exotic gifts, Ian.”

“The usual way to call for that purpose is to knock at the door,” said Nate calmly.

Ian swelled in indignation. “How do you know I didn’t?”

“He knocked. Lisette would never feed him if he did not.” Angelique glared at Ian. “I told you it was foolish to attempt to sneak up on me, and pointless as well. I heard you shuffling your feet.”

“Not much, I should think,” he muttered.

She sighed. Stealth was not Ian’s strength; strength was. Still, he worked at it. “Not much,” she agreed diplomatically.

“It sounded like a herd of cattle,” said Nate. “I heard you while walking up the stairs.”

“You did not,” Ian retorted.

Nate shrugged. “Just because I didn’t run into the room and cry, ‘I heard you’? Try it without the boots next time.”

Automatically Angelique and Ian both looked down. Ian wore boots, while Nate stood in stocking feet.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Still glowering, Ian dropped into a chair. “No need to stick a man in the back of the neck, though.”

“I didn’t, until you pulled out the knife.” Nate glanced at Angelique. “I didn’t know if he had your affection for blades.”

“No, Ian prefers to hit people with his fists.” Again Nate had been looking out for her, trying to protect her. That little blaze of happiness flared inside her chest again. She kept it buried behind a serene face, heeding her instinct to keep the feeling hidden, even though the glow of it warmed her. “But he has not come to hit anyone today,” she said, turning to Ian.

“Of course not. I’ve only come to have a chat.”

The ember of warmth went out. “He grows restless already?”

“Curious,” Ian replied in the same careless tone, a tone that didn’t match the close way he watched Nate. “He bade me inquire after your progress and see if you need any assistance.” Ian smiled broadly and sank onto the chair. “Which I would be pleased to offer.”

“Curious, and impatient.” Angelique pressed her lips together in pique. “What sort of assistance do you propose to provide? We have done all the work so far, taking care to be unnoticed, and now you will kidnap our man off the street?”

Ian leaned back and draped one arm over the back of the chair. It was the same chair where she and Nate had made love just a few nights ago, and Angelique had to school her expression very strictly as Ian pushed it back onto two legs, just as Nate had done when she⁠—

“I am at your command, Angelique, ready to offer any assistance you desire.” Ian flashed a wide grin at her and winked.

A thin smile crossed Nate’s face. He still just stood in silence, arms crossed and feet apart, watching Ian. At least he’d put away his knife. He glanced at her, mischief simmering in his eyes, and she had to look away to keep from blushing. At her command. Ian could have chosen any words but those…

“Thank you, Ian, I do not think that will be necessary,” she said. “We are making good progress and expect to have our man soon. You may tell Stafford I will report to him when there is anything of interest to report.”

“I could wait about for a few days.” Ian didn’t move from his seat. “Another pair of hands to ensure everything is completed.”

She felt a chill. Everything meant killing Dixon. “Oh?” she said, hiding her sudden turmoil. “Are there additional instructions?”

Ian shrugged. “Not that I know of. I expect he told you all he wanted you to do. Old Staff’s pretty thorough, once he decides to undertake something.”

Yes, he was. Ian’s appearance was not a simple visit to see how she progressed, but a warning. Stafford was reminding her of what he had told her to do.

“Then he has told you what he told me,” she said, carefully probing. If Ian knew and had been instructed to see that she carried it out, she would have an even more serious dilemma facing her.

“No,” Ian said cheerfully. “He just asked me to remind you of his instructions and your duty.”