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“And Harry’s warning that Stafford and Sidmouth have grown reckless,” she reminded Ian. “I told him nothing of what we were doing, and he still warned me to be very, very careful how I proceeded in their employ. I have looked and looked for a reason to believe all is as it should be, and have not found it—nor have you.”

Ian closed his eyes and sighed, but nodded for her to go on.

“If it happens that Stafford knew what Selwyn wished and why, he will not be pleased by our actions. I suspect he will not allow me simply to walk away. Even if he did, I would forever wonder when he might suffer an attack of anxiety and send someone to silence me forever. I know too many of his secrets.” Nate’s eyes narrowed, but she raised one hand to keep him quiet until she could finish. “I think it will be best if John Stafford is assured I am no threat to him.” She paused. “If he sees me die.”

“You— If— What— Sees you die?” choked Ian.

“No,” Nate growled. “Angelique, I understand what you say, but⁠—”

“You do not know him as I do,” she interrupted. “He would not hesitate. Many times he has asked me to act without telling anyone—not even Phipps knows all I have done for him. If I were to reveal publicly all his undertakings, it would cause a tremendous uproar. And I am just a woman, French, an assassin and a spy, hardly someone society would mourn.”

For a long minute all were silent. Ian gripped handfuls of hair and opened his mouth several times to speak, but never did. Nate just watched her, his gaze frustrated but measuring. “How do you propose to do it?” he asked at last.

“A knife to the chest. A bladder of blood, sewn into my dress, will provide enough proof.” Both men gaped at her for a long moment. “Ian?” she prodded.

“It’s damned lunacy,” said Ian heavily, “but I reluctantly agree.”

“Good, because you will have to wield the knife.” Ian and Nate jerked in identical surprise at her words. “If Nate does it, Stafford will have him arrested at once. If I do it, he will wonder why I took my own life. And I would prefer to have someone I trust holding the knife, rather than take the chance Phipps can be manipulated.”

Ian’s face went gray. “Bloody Christ, I can’t stab you!”

“Let me,” Nate urged. “We can argue—you can attack me first…”

Angelique shook her head. “It must be Ian. Will you, Ian?”

After a long pause, the Scot dipped his head. “I’ll go to hell for this,” he muttered. He grabbed his cap and gave her a tormented glance. “I’ll be back in the morning and you can tell me what to do then. I can’t think any more of it tonight.” And he was gone, banging the door behind him.

“Let’s think of a different plan,” Nate said. “I don’t like this one.”

“Neither do I. But I cannot go with you if I must spend the rest of my life in fear.”

Nate scowled and folded his arms. “You won’t. I won’t allow it.”

She moved closer to him and touched his face. “You are not in control of that.” His expression darkened. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He looked at her for a long moment. “You don’t have to thank me. I would do it even if—” He stopped and looked away. “If you change your mind about coming with me, you can say so at any time. Then we wouldn’t need to go through this… this masquerade.”

Her lips parted in shock. “You think I will change my mind?”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he said with almost philosophical detachment. “It’s an enormous sacrifice, even before asking Wallace to stab you in the chest.”

“Debilitating,” she agreed. “I will lose my home, my employment, the country I have lived in almost all my life, even Mélanie… Everything, really.”

Nate gave a jerky nod, his face stony. “Everything.”

“Except you,” she whispered. “And that makes it infinitely worthwhile.”

He didn’t say a word; he didn’t have to. Nate looked at her with his heart in his eyes, tormented and fearful and bright with love. She stepped into his arms and they clung to each other.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this plan,” he whispered. “You know that if something goes wrong⁠—”

“Nothing will go wrong,” she said, stroking his back.

“I hope.” But his arms didn’t loosen.

“Trust me,” she said. He sighed and pressed his lips to her temple. “What Ian said earlier—about Dixon walking away free⁠—”

“If I could trade Dixon to Stafford in exchange for your freedom, I’d do it,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “Without hesitation.”