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God, but she was beautiful. He would never get used to that fact.

He was standing too close to her; he should move.

“Mr. Moon!” she cried.

Moon managed a smile as Caroline tucked him into her arms. They exchanged pleasantries, Moon told her about the jump, and then Caroline turned to Henry.

“Are you all right?” she asked, unbuttoning the front of her pelisse. “You’re soaking wet.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll take care of that in a moment.” Henry sprang forward, taking her hat and gloves and placing them on a nearby table.

He turned to look at her. “Caroline,” he said quietly.

She looked at her feet and shook her head.

“How is your brother?” Henry asked. “He was worse for the wear when we set him in the hackney last night.”

“He’s better,” she said. “He’s sprained both ankles, and his face is bruised. He won’t be out of bed for a few weeks, maybe longer. I was going to send word, but he doesn’t want anyone to know, not yet. Especially Lady Violet. Says he has his reasons for not telling her—I told him he was a scoundrel—but he made me swear.” She forced a smile to her lips. “So you must swear, too.”

Henry wanted to keep that smile there, so he smiled himself, and held a hand over his heart. He leaned forward, teasingly. “I swear not to tell Lady Violet, who is probably half-dead with worry, that your brother is alive, and mostly well.”

“Thank you,” she clipped. “He’s a devil, isn’t he, William?”

She was biting her lip now, trying not to smile so hard.

That lip. It killed him.

“Well, then,” Mr. Moon stepped in. “To what do we owe the honor, my lady?”

Only then did Henry notice that Caroline’s outstretched hand was gathered into a fist. Slowly she uncurled her fingers, revealing a blot of darkness in the middle of her palm.

Henry blinked.

And then he looked up at Moon. Moon stared back.

“Our plot against Woodstock,” she said. “We might put it into play at last.”

Henry nodded at the diamond. “May I?”

“Of course.”

Henry held the French Blue up to the thin light that streamed through the kitchen window. The diamond sparkled a thousand shades of watery gray. Propped between his thumb and forefinger it appeared rather small, though no less remarkable; he understood why half the world lusted after it.

Drawing a deep breath through his nose, Henry gathered his fingers around the jewel and held it in his palm. He turned to look at Caroline.

“Thank you for bringing it to us.”

Caroline blinked. “I owe you—well, quite a bit. You threw a duel for me, for God’s sake. You were going to let my
blackhearted brother shoot you, just so I would not have to suffer his loss. You saved him from an exploding ship. This”—she nodded at the jewel—“is the least I can do. So let me do it.”

He should have known she would try something like this, do something that would, in her mind, settle her debt to him.

But there was no debt to be settled. He did not throw the duel out of duty, or even decency. Throwing it had felt as ordinary, as obviously simple, as smiling back at a laughing baby. Henry had done it, and he would do it again. For Caroline. Because it meant keeping her safe, and happy.

Forty

The Marquess of Woodstock’s Residence

Berkeley Square, Mayfair

H
enry lifted the heavy brass knocker, allowing it to fall with a ringing
thud
on the door. Straightening, he moved his hand to cover the telltale bulge in his waistcoat pocket.

The French Blue. It jumped against his palm in time to his hammering pulse; though it was hardly bigger than his thumb, the diamond felt heavy in his pocket, an unwelcome, ominous weight.

At last. It was time to put an end to this bloody business.

Henry prayed all went to plan; that this plot of Caroline’s worked, that they would leave with their lives intact, and the diamond in hand. Even if his audience with Woodstock went badly, it comforted Henry to know he could use the jewel as a bargaining chip of last resort. If the marquess threatened Caroline’s life, or made a move Henry did not anticipate, he could always offer up the diamond; even Woodstock, in all his strange-smelling evilness, would be entranced by a fifty-carat
gem. Henry would never have agreed to Caroline’s plot if he did not have the gem as insurance against disaster.

The front door, lacquered a sufficiently sinister shade of black, swung open, and an officious butler saw him up the stairs to a drawing room of sorts at the back of the house. The chamber was more bordello than parlor, with walls and floors and furniture done in gleaming shades of black, brass, and gray. It was dark; the fire was a smoldering pile of embers, and no lamps or candles were lit.

After ensuring Henry was not armed—the butler was an annoyingly thorough fellow—he turned and made for the door.

“Wait here.” He sniffed over his shoulder. “His lordship shall be down presently.”

Standing very still, Henry glanced at the window on the far end of the room. Heavy velvet drapes hung on either side of the window; perfect hiding spots for Moon, Henry thought, when he made his move.

He drew a breath through his nose, and willed his heart to be still. His palms were clammy. He was unaccountably nervous. Unaccountably, because he never got nervous; the feeling was as foreign to him as good beer was to the French.

It was because of Caroline—the nervousness. In the past, the fate of nations had been at stake. History. Victory. His life, and those of his best men. But Caroline’s life never hung in the balance.

Now it did. And Henry was scared.

“Ah!” came a deep voice, followed by a clap as hands were brought together, the scrape of skin as they were rubbed against one another with glee. “I am so glad you have finally made your choice, Mr. Lake!”

Henry turned to see Woodstock stride into the room, his boots beating an authoritative tattoo against the bare marble floors.

He was smiling. “Your man, Mr. Moon—what a wily one he is! I was just about to take a stroll to your brother’s house. Lock you and Moon inside and burn it down. What impeccable timing, Mr. Lake, that word should arrive about your decision just as I was walking out the door.”

“I wish to be done with this business,” Henry said. “Done with you.”

Woodstock made his way to an ebony sideboard. “A drink, to mark the occasion?”

Henry cocked a brow. “Occasion?”

“Your defeat, of course. I’ve only been waiting twelve years.”

“No,
thank
you, I’d rather make the trade so I can leave, get back to work. Your old friend Bonaparte doesn’t wait.”

“Oh, he’ll wait for me.” Woodstock pulled the stopper from a decanter. “I admit I hoped your search for the jewel would prove a failure. I so looked forward to becoming acquainted with your lovely companion, Lady Osbourne. Alas, knowing how England will suffer once I have the French Blue—that is no small consolation.”

Woodstock held out a heavy-bottomed crystal tumbler to Henry. “Cognac, a ’73. A gift from my old friend, as you called him, from his personal cellar.” He tilted this head, confidingly. “I think you’re going to like it.”

In a single, swift motion, Henry reached out and slapped the glass from Woodstock’s hand. It crashed to the floor, shards of glass exploding from the point of contact across the room.

Woodstock’s smile didn’t deepen, exactly; it just curled in on itself with a sinister kind of joy. “Your anger, Mr. Lake, is so satisfying.”

He sipped placidly at his cognac, boots crunching on the broken glass as he stepped toward Henry. “I wish to see my prize now,” he said, voice low. “Show me what I have won.”

Henry glanced at the clock on the mantel. A few minutes before Caroline was to appear; he hoped, fervently, she would arrive without event, safely.

Digging into his pocket, Henry grasped the stone with his fingers and pulled it out into the light. The marquess’s breath caught in his throat as Henry held it up to the warm glow of the chandelier.

The French Blue glittered a thousand shades of blue and red and white, a blot of flashing brilliance that refracted the light in a rainbow of brilliance. Henry’s heart was pounding; it was difficult to hold the diamond still in his fingers, lest Woodstock see how nervous he was, how terrified that they would be found out, their plot foiled.

“How ever did you find it?” Woodstock asked, his eyes never leaving the gem. “I heard something about that Bourbon
idiot, and an explosion down at London Docks. Sounds like your sort of trouble, Lake.”

Henry did not answer.

“I’m sure it is a marvelous story.” Woodstock smacked his lips. “Since you will not share it, tell me another. How will you live with yourself, knowing you chose your cock over your country? How did you become so broken, that you would make such a choice?”

Henry bit a hole in his lip to keep from breaking Woodstock’s face. “I did what I had to do,” he ground out.

“Yes, yes of course you did.” The marquess held out his palm. “And I shall do the same. Thank you for coming to see m—”

“Wait!”

They both turned at the cry that sounded at the door; a cry that was followed by the crunch of hurried footsteps across the broken glass. Henry’s heart nearly exploded at the sight of Caroline, breathless, disheveled, her hair and her dress in convincing—and, he thought grimly, voluptuous—disarray; her bonnet hung precariously from one ear.

“Wait!” She dashed across the room, arms flailing above her head. “Wait, Henry, I won’t let you do it.”

The marquess’s rough-edged mouth broke into a smile as he turned away from Henry. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Henry slipped the jewel back into his pocket.

“Why, Caroline, dear,” Woodstock drawled, “what a most welcome surprise!”

“Whan in hell are you doing here?” Henry asked. “How did you find me?”

“I’ve been following you for days,” she panted. “I knew you’d do something stupid sooner or later.”

“But how—?” Henry sputtered. “I would’ve seen you!”

“For one who claims to have lived in the shadows all these years, you’re not nearly as savvy as you believe yourself to be.”

Henry glared at Caroline. Insulting him was decidedly
not
part of the plan.

Caroline swallowed, turning away to face Woodstock. “Please, my lord, take me instead. I won’t—I can’t let Henry give you the diamond. There are too many lives at stake—take me, please, take me and let’s be done here.”

Woodstock drew a hand, slowly, down the length of Caroline’s arm. Henry gritted his teeth; he could tell she struggled not to pull away, not to wince at the marquess’s touch.

But Caroline was brave. She was insulting, too, but she was also bold. She would, he knew, play her part well.

As Henry would play his.

“No,” he growled, tearing her away from the marquess. “This is my decision to make, Caroline. You haven’t a clue what you’re saying, the sort of trouble you’d get yourself into. What in hell were you thinking, coming here like this?”

Caroline pulled her elbow from his grasp. “I was thinking of England. I was thinking of you, Henry. Give him the diamond, and all is lost. Your men, the war, our innocence.”

Somewhere, deep inside his terror, laughter stirred. Caroline’s speech was ridiculous, and ridiculously perfect.
Our innocence
. He would have to tease her about that later, if, that is, they made it out of here alive.

“Poor dear,” the marquess said. “She does have a point, Mr. Lake. Leave her here with me, and you are able to take the jewel to the French. Negotiate for the lives of your men. St. George would thank you for it. So”—he curled a lock of Caroline’s hair around his finger—“would I.”

“I would rather die than leave her with you,” Henry spat. “Take the diamond, Woodstock, and leave us be.”

Caroline tilted her chin in the air. “Henry, I’m staying.”

“No, you’re not. You’re leaving with me, now.”

But even as Henry reached for her, Woodstock already gathered her to him. His eyes flashed with malice as he looked down upon her, fingering her chin, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Henry balled his hands into fists. He couldn’t take Woodstock’s touching, his fawning, much longer without doing something stupid. Where the devil was Moon?

“Forget the diamond,” Woodstock said, turning to look at Henry. “I want her. She stays.”

“Take your hands off her,” Henry replied. His voice was hoarse with rage. This time he was not playing his part.

Woodstock turned his gaze to Henry. “But she belongs to me now, doesn’t she? We all win this way. Lady Caroline comes to
me, and you—well, you’ve got the French Blue, and whatever victory you think you’ve won for king and country.”

He took Caroline’s gloved hand in his and brought it to his mouth, running his lips across her knuckles. “Patriotism can be so dull. Wouldn’t you agree, darling?”

Henry’s pulse counted the passing seconds. Surely five minutes had passed? Moon was supposed to be here, damn it; Henry didn’t know how much longer he could hold back.

“But what of the power the diamond would bring you, the things you could buy with it?” Henry said. “Your rage blinds you.”