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He jumped up to follow her from the room. “I’ll watch for that note, sending me after you to make sure all is well.” He reached around her to open the door.

She raised her eyes to his, once more calm and self-possessed. “I am sure that will not be necessary. I can handle one American, no matter how amateur or bellicose.”

He grinned and winked at her. “Aye, but if you need a hand with the embezzler⁠—”

Angelique gave him a brief, dismissive smile. “You know I won’t. Thank you, Ian. You have been most helpful.” She left, feeling his eyes on her back until she rounded the newel post and went down the stairs.

On the street once more, she walked briskly, scourging herself with the sting of his disinterest. Ian Wallace wasn’t the only man in the world, and she was far from a dried-up crone. But how dare he flirt with her so outrageously and so often, if he had no interest in actually having her? Surely he couldn’t have been alarmed by that word, “husband”; surely Ian had bigger ballocks than that. She certainly hadn’t expected him to fall upon her with a declaration of love and desire, but a spark of interest or acknowledgment would have been agreeable. He couldn’t even give weight to her suspicion that Stafford wasn’t playing fairly with her, but laughed it off and then offered to step in and help. As if she needed help, let alone his help.

She realized she was quivering with fury and forcibly reined in her emotions. Very well. Ian had persuaded her, for good or for ill: she would take Stafford’s vile little job, but this was the last one. A month’s work, no more, and then she would walk away from all this ugliness.

And woe betide Nathaniel Avery if he got in her way.

Chapter Three

Nate returned to his ship in a thoughtful mood. He wasn’t sure what to make of Angelique Martand. There were a dozen ways she could complicate his true purpose, but perhaps she could also serve it. Still, it would be like holding a copperhead snake in his fist, terrifying to have near but too deadly to let go. He couldn’t keep from wondering what her bite would be like.

When he went into his cabin, his traveling companion was pounding something in the stone mortar with a pestle. Now that they were in port and not as subject to the roll of the ocean, Prince had set up his chemistry equipment again. The table was covered with a collection of pots and jars, some with lids, some with glass tubes sticking out the top, and one with smoke wafting from it. Nate had little idea what he was brewing, but it would probably come in handy, whatever it was. That, and the fact that he didn’t trust anyone more than he trusted Prince, was why Nate had wanted him to come to England.

“Well?” Prince asked without looking up.

Nate stripped off his overlarge coat and let it fall on a chair. “I saw him,” he replied. “As much a viper as I expected. Selwyn obviously wrote to him, warning him of what I would say. He was prepared for everything I asked.” He paused. “A little too prepared. He wants Dixon found even more than we do.”

Prince frowned at the contents of the mortar. “He said that?”

“He didn’t have to.” Nate tossed aside the ill-fitting waistcoat as well, stretching his arms overhead in relief. He much preferred the more comfortable clothing of the frontier or the sea, but looking like a country buffoon had suited his purpose today. “It was in everything he did and said. Not only was he waiting for me, he’d already sent for an agent of his to assist me.”

“Very efficient,” muttered Prince.

“Not even the English are that efficient.”

A deep frown crossed Prince’s face. “Will this agent be a problem?”

Nate dropped into the chair opposite his companion, tugging off his heavy boots. “I don’t know yet. She might be.”

“She?” Prince had leaned over to peer into the smoking jar, but now he glanced up, a sly smile splitting his dark face. “Don’t tell me he gave you a woman? A lady spy! Did he pat you on the head, too, and tell you to run home to your nursemaid?”

Nate laughed. “Not in so many words, although I think he would have, if he thought he could find Dixon on his own. I told you, he wants Dixon very badly.”

“You said that before. Why would that be? The man hasn’t set foot in England for a decade at least.”

Nate gazed out the small window, thinking before he answered. Already the smells and sounds of London had permeated the ship. He could see masts and rigging, dotted with seabirds, and hear the calls of boatmen and sailors as they worked, loading and unloading cargo.

“I’ve no idea,” he finally admitted. “At a guess, Dixon probably established his thieving ways well before he left for New York. He might be wanted here. Of course, if that were the case, it would seem best to mount a determined search without delay, and Stafford agreed completely with my request for stealth and secrecy. In fact, he agreed with almost everything I asked. Somehow I doubt the Crown would be so eager to hand him over to us if they had a prior claim on him.”

“Then what?” Prince shrugged. “They send a woman to charm the breeches off him? Odd way to punish a man, if you ask me.”

Nate shook his head. He didn’t know, but he was quite sure he was right about Stafford being just as anxious, if not more so, to find Jacob Dixon. But why? That was a mystery, and the choice of agent selected to assist him didn’t make things any clearer.

“So, what is she like, this lady spy? What is the plan now?”

What was she like? He had no idea, not really. “She’s a beauty,” he replied. “French. Slim and petite, the sort of woman who can appear as helpless as a spring lamb.” Prince snorted in disgust. “I said appear. She’s not helpless at all. She offered to cut my throat personally, and there’s something in the way she moves that radiates…power.”

He was a little surprised to hear himself say that last word, but it was true. In that carriage ride, she had been hiding nothing from him. Whatever else she might be, Angelique Martand was nobody’s fool, and nothing like a weakling.

Prince snorted again, then put back his head and laughed. “A beautiful French lady,” he said, grinning wickedly. “Full of power. You rolled snake eyes on this one, eh, Nathaniel? She will keep your eyes open, and perhaps not where they should be.”

“You’d better have your eyes open, too,” Nate told him. “I don’t know anything about her except that she’s a mystery. Don’t let yourself be taken in by her appearance, whatever that appearance is. She’s Stafford’s agent, and I don’t trust him—or her—not to have other motives beyond serving Lord Selwyn’s purpose.”