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This time he chuckled. “That you are.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “But I promise to tell you if circumstances warrant.”

“How?” she asked immediately. “What circumstances?”

“Ones I hope we never see,” he said firmly, and refused to say another word about it.

Chapter Thirty-One

Jacob Dixon didn’t take it well when he heard they would be waiting to see if his story could be confirmed. “I told you the truth!” he shrilled.

“I hope so,” Nate told him. “You’ve got an unfortunate history with truth.”

“What are you going to do until you get this proof?” He rattled the chains at his wrists in agitation. “Am I supposed to sit here like an animal?”

“Madame still has her knife, if you prefer a more immediate judgment.”

Dixon recoiled, eyes widening. “You swore to me you wouldn’t allow her⁠—”

Nate smiled grimly. “You’re mistaken if you think she obeys my orders.”

A sly look came over the man’s face. “Oh, I think she listens to you most attentively. I’m not blind.”

“No, but you’re not that clever, either. Keep your mouth closed, lest you wear out her patience and mine.” Nate took out some papers and held them out to his prisoner. “For now, sign these.”

Dixon’s eyes flitted over the papers, then away. “Oh, this is too much… You haven’t given me any sort of security, yet you want to collect all my worldly goods and dupe my only friend into thinking I’m not in any danger…”

“I’ll get your baggage whether you sign or not, and Davis Hurst is no one’s friend,” Nate replied. “You have a decision here. You can preserve the illusion that you’re not about to have your throat cut, which one might think would help keep your spirits up, and curry my good favor at the same time by making it easier for me to recover the United States’ money. Or you can refuse, and be treated as any uncooperative thief might be.”

Dixon’s mouth flattened, and he glared at Nate with bitter hatred, but he put out his hand for the pen and silently signed the notes Nate had written, one to the manager at the Pulteney and the other to Hurst.

“Excellent choice.” Nate folded the notes into his pocket and collected the ink and pen. The room was utterly bare, except for a pallet and blanket. He checked the chains that kept Dixon manacled to the wall, then let himself out of the room and locked the door behind him.

Ian Wallace was in the hall below, obviously just arrived. Dressed like a gentleman today, he was handing his coat and hat to Lisette as Nate came down the stairs. The big Scot glanced up and gave him that curious half smile he always seemed to wear. Nate wondered what that look meant, but Angelique came out of the drawing room.

“Well?” she demanded of their visitor.

Wallace grimaced. “’Tis wet and rainy out, a raw London day. I’m chilled right through to my bones.”

“I thought a Scotsman wasn’t bothered by anything less than a hurricane,” she retorted. “That is not what I meant.”

“Can you not even offer your guest a hot cup of tea?” Wallace said instead, giving her a broad smile. “With perhaps a wee bit of whiskey?”

Nate knew what Wallace was doing. He went down into the hall and put on his coat. “I’m going out,” he told Angelique. He cast an oblique look at Wallace, still grinning merrily and not saying a single word about why he’d actually come. “Good luck.”

“Fetch some tea, without whiskey,” Angelique told Lisette, who nodded and bustled off through the hall. “Ian, I will join you in a moment in the drawing room.”

“You slay me, lass,” Wallace said as he headed toward the drawing room. He sent Lisette a charming smile. “Just a drop?”

Angelique followed Nate to the door. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“To collect Dixon’s belongings. I’ll be back soon.” He picked up an umbrella standing by the door. “And to have a word with Prince.”

She reached up and did the top buttons on his coat, smoothing the lapels in a very wifely manner. Nate saw the signs of strain around her eyes and felt like hurting someone, just to ease his own frustrations and his worry for her. “Be careful,” she murmured.

He smiled. “I shan’t do anything dangerous at all. I might say the same to you, with that cagey wolf in there waiting for you.”

“Ian is no danger,” she said reprovingly. “Not to me.”

“He’d probably like to take my scalp, though,” Nate agreed. “Which is why I’m leaving the field to you, my dear.” He tipped up her chin and kissed her, lightly, then deeply, as if there might not be another. Perhaps he did fear that; there were a legion of problems facing them, and he didn’t see a safe path through the thorny tangle. And if any of those thorns caught them… He didn’t want to waste a single kiss.