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“Not by choice,” mumbled Jacob Dixon, swaying on his feet. “Drink or get shot…”

“Now walk or get shot,” Nate muttered back.

It was a terrible risk he took. If by chance someone who would recognize Dixon had followed him, there could be trouble. He had no idea what would happen if he were caught out in the lie he had just told Lord Selwyn and one very dangerous spymaster, but even more he feared what might happen to Angelique. Wallace was supposed to get her safely away, but if something went wrong… If Stafford suspected anything… If anyone checked to see that Wallace’s knife really had gone between Angelique’s ribs instead of just through the bladder of blood sewn into her dress…

The thought was unbearable. So Nate had changed his plan. Dixon wasn’t safely hidden on the ship; Dixon was close at hand, ready to be produced at a moment’s notice. If things had gone wrong and Nate’s hand had been forced, he would have handed Dixon into Selwyn’s clutches without hesitation. If he must trade the man he sought for the woman he loved, Nate would have done it in a heartbeat and not wasted one moment of regret for Dixon or for Selwyn or even for Ben Davies. Ben especially would expect no less of him.

Thankfully it hadn’t come to that—yet.

Prince had poured out the contents of his jug into the empty tankards on the table. At a nod from Nate, he dropped a handful of powder into each one. As smoke began to billow from the tankards, Nate threw open the door and strode out, towing Dixon along behind him, the other men clustering around the thief and jostling him to keep moving while Prince brought up the rear.

By the time they reached the main taproom, wisps of white smoke were streaming ahead of them. Someone shouted “Oy! Fire!” and that was all it took to start a stampede.

Anyone trying to track him now would be lost in the mob of alarmed people that poured forth from the pub and several buildings around it. He didn’t spot the man who had followed him from Bow Street, but it was impossible to be certain. There was a clanging of a fire bell, and several people was shouting at top volume for everyone to move away and let the horses through. Absolutely no one should recognize Jacob Dixon, dressed as one of the many sailors, as drunk as any of them, but Nate kept his grip on the back of Dixon’s jacket as he pushed his way down the narrow street toward the dock.

To his immense relief no one stopped them, and they made it aboard the Water Asp unimpeded. The captain, already alerted to be ready to sail, immediately sent the crew scurrying about the deck to their stations. Nate dragged Dixon, now barely able to keep his feet, belowdecks to the brig, a small iron cage furnished with nothing but a bucket. He shoved him through the door. Dixon collapsed onto his knees, then retched into the bucket. Without even wiping his mouth, he slowly toppled over onto the blanket lying beside it. A moment later, a loud snore drifted out of his open mouth. Just like any sailor.

Nate locked the cage and tucked the key into his pocket, giving the door a hard rattle to make certain it was secure. His hands were shaking again. It was dim down here, lit by infrequent lanterns despite the bright daylight streaming through the hatches. It smelled of pine tar and vomit and sour gin.

Prince caught up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Everything went as planned?” he asked quietly.

“There must have been a gallon of blood in that bladder.” His stomach revolted as the image of Angelique, drenched in blood, flashed across his mind again, scoring into his memory. Nate had to bend over, resting his hands on his knees as he fought back the rising bile. “Good God, it was everywhere…”

“But she is well,” Prince prompted.

“I hope. Wallace is supposed to send word as soon as they’re safe.” Now he had to spend the night wondering if things had gone wrong, and if he would need to storm Bow Street. “Did you see anyone?”

Prince shook his head. “The smoke caused an uproar. I doubt anyone could have followed you through the crowd, and you were well away by the time the smoke died down.”

Nate nodded.

“Come, Nathaniel,” his friend urged. “You look ready to collapse. Sit down. Get some air.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” he growled.

“But you can’t go to her,” Prince reminded him gently. “And you mustn’t give up the masquerade now.”

Nate closed his eyes. Goddamn it. He couldn’t do anything for Angelique. Prince was right. He cast one more black look at the unconscious Dixon, the author of all this trouble, and followed Prince up to the deck.

* * *

It was impossible to play at dying for very long. Angelique was able to allow her mind drift for a few minutes at a time, letting her breathing grow shallow and slow. She had seen men linger for days after being stabbed in the gut, before succumbing to slow, painful death. It was not a pleasant thought. The blood soaking though her dress was growing cold, and she couldn’t stop a shiver from time to time, mostly of revulsion.

Above her she could hear Selwyn talking: arguing, cursing, pleading. The earl seemed to know his future hung in the balance and he was not going quietly. Stafford was saying little, and Angelique wondered if Selwyn knew that was a bad sign. Stafford might not believe everything Angelique and Nate had said, but he didn’t disbelieve. He would send someone to investigate, to question, to dig up whatever remained of the truth. Angelique wasn’t sure what proof he could find with Dixon apparently dead, but then, Stafford didn’t always require proof before he acted.

Ian hunkered down on his haunches a few feet away from her, his head in his hands. After cutting into the bladder of pig’s blood, he hadn’t said a word. From time to time he would shoot an agonized look at her, as if to check that she was still carrying on with this. She could see his desperation to get out of that office in his face. It mirrored her own, but she had to stay limp.

She closed her eyes and thought of Nate. Had he made it to his ship yet? Everything should have been ready to sail. Nate and Prince had perfected those arrangements without her. They couldn’t risk anyone seeing her near the ship. She hoped Phipps had just released Nate at the door, but the little weasel hadn’t returned yet.

The door creaked after a while. “Avery went straight to the docks,” Phipps reported. “Running like the hounds of hell were chasing him.”

Angelique wilted in relief.

“Very good,” said Stafford. “The fewer complications, the better.”

“What do you want done with… this?” Phipps kicked her foot, a little too aggressively.

Angelique had slumped back against the wall, leaving her bloodied front on display, but now she opened her eyes and glared right at the horrid man as she hissed, “Do not touch me.”