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“Mr. Avery, I believe you should leave,” Stafford told him.

“You’ve got a madwoman on your hands,” Nate charged, thrusting out his finger at her. “I saw her work, sir, the man was butchered, his throat cut from ear to ear.” Selwyn let out an audible gulp, inching away from where Angelique stood, knife in hand.

“Mr. Avery, go,” said Stafford again. “Wallace, take her to Mr. Phipps’s office.”

“Ian,” said Angelique softly, keeping her eyes fixed on the big Scot.

Ian’s face twisted. “Come, lass,” he said gently. “Put the knife away. You know I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I am not going with you, not on his orders,” she replied. “I am done with this. He has used us, Ian, do you not see? On the word of men such as him”—she pointed her knife toward Selwyn, who flinched—“he has sent us out to spy upon, to follow, to incriminate, to murder. It does not matter why to him. We are nothing but weapons for the government to use. For all we know, this has all been to his profit. Lord Selwyn has proven he will go to great lengths to keep his secret.”

“Madame Martand,” said Stafford sharply. “Be silent. Wallace, take her downstairs, or I will have you taken with her.”

Angelique looked at her former employer. “I have killed a man because I took your word that it was necessary. How many other men in the government or the Parliament would like to have someone conveniently killed, not by their own hand but by the anonymous hand of a government agent? They would have no guilt, yet they would reap the benefit. And all they have to do is ask you.”

“That is not what I do.” A vein throbbed in Stafford’s temple. “Have you really believed yourself to be killing innocent men and settling private scores?”

“No,” she whispered. “I believed I did the right thing. And that is what haunts me.”

Stafford said nothing. Phipps was white-faced but with the bright light of glee in his eyes. Angelique felt a moment of black humor that at least she could finally fulfill Phipps’s expectations of her.

“Wait a moment,” said Nate loudly. “You’ve done this before?”

She flicked him a cold glance. “Yes.”

“Nonsense,” said Stafford at the same moment.

Nate turned to Selwyn. “Did you know about this?” he demanded. “Did you know, sir, that you were sending me into an assassination ring? That is not at all what we discussed—I wanted to take him to New York for trial! This must constitute a serious breach of protocol and an open affront to my country.”

Selwyn’s eyes darted to Stafford. “Of course not,” he said stiffly. “You have been seriously misled, Mr. Avery. This woman is a liar and a lunatic.”

“Mr. Phipps,” said Stafford ominously, “show Mr. Avery out. He must catch his ship back to America, I am sure. Mr. Wallace, take Madame Martand belowstairs. I will deal with her shortly.”

“No need.” Angelique moved toward the door. “I am done speaking. I shall leave. If I have your word that you will deal with Lord Selwyn’s deception appropriately, you have nothing to fear from me. I am ready for a new life.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The look Stafford gave her was half paternal regret, half cold fury. “We have worked together well for many years, Madame Martand. Surely you see that I still have need of you…and you have need of me.”

“You must deal without me from now on.”

“Don’t be hasty, Angelique,” said Ian quietly.

“Wallace,” warned Stafford.

Ian held up one hand to him. “Wait a bit and think,” he said to Angelique. “Let’s have a drink. Tomorrow we’ll talk it over and sort it all out.”

Slowly she shook her head and backed away from him. “No, Ian. I am done with him.”

Ian glanced at Stafford, who made an impatient motion. “Remember who you work for,” the spymaster said to him. “Remember all we protect.”

Ian turned back to her, his face set. Angelique’s heart pounded. Ian advanced on her, hands still upraised. For a moment he looked at her, his blue eyes clouded. “Do you really want it to come to this?” he asked quietly—pleadingly.

This was the part of the plan Ian hated most, and not unreasonably. She hadn’t liked it herself, but knew it was her last defense against living the rest of her life under the shadow of Stafford’s menace. She had persuaded Nate and Ian both to accept it, and told them and herself she was prepared for it. But now it was upon her, and Ian was offering one more chance before she crossed her Rubicon.

Her heart climbed into her throat. She forced it back down, stiffened her spine, and raised her knife. “Remember your promise,” she breathed, then spoke normally. “What choice have I?”

His face twisted in sorrow for a moment, then he lunged. Angelique made a wild swipe with her knife, without any force. Her blade flashed, drawing blood from his arm in a shallow cut. Nate began cursing like mad, shoving Selwyn down behind Stafford’s desk and managing to knock over several chairs in the process. Phipps was shouting at both of them, even as he scurried behind a bookcase. Stafford barked something at Phipps, who was shouting back.

Angelique heard it all dimly as Ian caught her wrist, the one holding the knife. He backed her to the wall, his tall frame looming over her and blocking the chaos in the room from her view. She struggled against his grip, appreciating for the first time how strong Ian was. He could hold her like this all day and she would be powerless to stop him.