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Dixon spread his hands. “Perhaps he has been more disciplined than that. Perhaps. But the title made him arrogant and vain. If his deception hasn’t been uncovered in so long, the man I knew would take what he wanted.”

“And no one but you would have known of this?”

“Not a soul,” Dixon replied indignantly. “It wouldn’t have been effective if they had. Lady Selwyn agreed never to contact her family again. Indeed, Selwyn swore he’d kill her in truth if she returned, with or without the boy.”

“Not ship captains? Bankers? Servants? Nobody?” Nate queried sharply.

“I created an entirely new identity for her. Perhaps if you had made inquiries at the time, you could have located someone who might have identified Lady Selwyn, but after ten years…” Dixon lifted one shoulder. “She may be so changed, even Selwyn himself might not recognize her.”

Nate met Angelique’s eyes. Without a word they both rose and turned toward the door.

“Wait!” cried Dixon. “It’s all true, I swear it!”

Nate glanced back at him, kneeling in his chains on the floor, his face now white with alarm. “We shall see.” He closed the door and locked it.

* * *

Angelique followed Nate down the stairs and into his bedchamber. This time he shut the door behind them, reinforcing her feeling of being increasingly closed in by this wretched assignment. She went to the fireplace, where a blaze crackled in the grate, wishing it could burn away her rampaging unease.

“We must verify it,” she said, staring at the flickering flames. “You have told me many times he is a skillful liar.”

“Of course we have to verify it,” said Nate, his voice right at her shoulder. She couldn’t stop her flinch when he ran his finger down the side of her neck. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn every word he said is a lie.” He paused. His lips brushed the skin below her ear, and in spite of her anxiety, Angelique quivered at the pleasures of his touch. “However,” he murmured, “I also wouldn’t be surprised to learn every word is true.”

She closed her eyes. Unfortunately, her feeling was the same. She had worked for John Stafford for almost a decade, trusting in the rightness of his ultimate objectives even if not always in his methods. But twice in the last year alone she had seen him proved deceptive and willing to use his spies for petty, if not outright ignoble, purposes. It had shaken her more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. If he’d lied to her this year, how many times had it happened before? If he’d sent her to kill someone, not to maintain England’s law and order but to enact a personal vengeance, how many times had he done so in the past, when she never knew?

Angelique was good at what she did, and she made no excuses for it; some people did not deserve to live. But no one should be killed to hide someone else’s secrets. If what Dixon said was true, then Angelique faced two terrible possibilities: either Selwyn had lied to Stafford, accusing Jacob Dixon of sins so egregious that Stafford had no hesitation in ordering him killed; or Selwyn had simply said to kill him, and Stafford did so just because Lord Selwyn asked.

If the first possibility was correct, she would have to tell Stafford, knowing full well he might next send her after Selwyn himself. For all his own lies and deceptions, Stafford did not like being lied to and made a fool. That would be bad enough. But if the second was correct… It would be much, much worse.

Nate was still stroking her neck, pressing his strong, capable fingers into the taut muscles there, letting her think, trying to soothe at least part of the strain. How she loved that about him, that he could see when she was thinking and not feel the need to tell her what to do. He’d been honest with her, and now she would have to be unflinchingly honest in turn. Her heart felt torn in half; whatever he might suspect, she feared to acknowledge openly what she really was.

Her face was hot from the fire. She turned, and his arm came very naturally around her shoulder, his palm still cupping her nape. “I will find out,” she said quietly, “if what he said could be true. It will likely be impossible to be absolutely sure.”

“It shouldn’t be impossible to find out if Selwyn had a wife and child who went missing years ago. It shouldn’t be hard to discover if he has a new wife and children now.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “It should even be possible to learn who Selwyn’s secretary was back then.”

“That won’t be proof,” she murmured against his chest.

“It will be damning coincidence.”

“I can’t act on coincidence.”

“I certainly don’t expect you to,” he shot back, his brows flattening at her sharp tone. “It’s Stafford who does. Why does he want you to kill Dixon, Angelique? What did he say to persuade you to it?”

She held herself very still but couldn’t stop the tremble that ran through her. “Nothing. He said nothing.” Nate stared at her, uncomprehending. “He never does,” she went on, the words like ashes in her mouth. “He simply tells me to do it, and I do.”

For a long moment they stood facing each other, one rigid with anxiety, the other motionless with surprise. “You’re not just his spy,” Nate whispered. His green eyes were as dark as the sea. “You’re his assassin.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Somehow that word, so harsh and blunt, replenished Angelique’s courage, at least momentarily. She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

Slowly he nodded. His arms fell away from her. “Ah. Of course. Now I see.”

She clenched her teeth and waited. This was what she had expected from anyone who discovered the truth about her: shock and horror, disgust and fear. She told herself she could endure it. It would be good for her, actually, to see how he reacted to the truth. It would make it easier to forget him when he left, and not spend the rest of her life regretting what had never been possible in the first place.

Suddenly Nate turned on his heel and paced away, raking one hand through his hair. “How long?” he demanded, his words clipped and angry.

“Almost ten years.” She said it defiantly.