There was a deep, unsettling sadness in his mien. It made Claudia want to comfort him, but she didn’t know how. She took a long sip of lemonade instead. “But you’re certain it’s worth waiting for?” she asked, wiping her mouth. “Love?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “It’s worth waiting for, Claudia. It’s worth living and dying and killing for. It’s everything.”

“Ah!”

Pain, sudden and excruciating, clamped down on her womb like a vise. It robbed her of breath for a moment. Just when she thought it would ebb, it returned with even greater force, wrenching a scream from her throat. The room looked washed in orange and red, the color of alarm. This wasn’t false labor; this was something very wrong. She instantly rued every instance in which she’d disregarded the doctor’s orders or ignored Amelia’s advice. Perhaps she shouldn’t have climbed the stairs that morning. Perhaps she shouldn’t have eaten that rich pudding last night …

Please, she silently prayed. Please let the bothersome lump be unharmed.

“Mr. Faraday,” she panted, “I …” Another surge of pain. She gritted her teeth. “Something’s wrong. I need help.”

But Mr. Faraday—injured, hobbled Mr. Faraday—was already out of his chair …

And striding quickly from the room.

“Give it here, if you will.” Lily took the paper from Amelia’s grasp and scanned it quickly. A half-hour’s cajoling and several dozen nutmeats had resulted in a full page of avian ramblings. “It’s all the usual,” she noted with disappointment.

Oh, Julian. Guilty, guilty. Thank you, that will be all.

Endless permutations of the above, interspersed with whistles and squawks.

Then, toward the bottom of the page, she noted something new.

“‘Mr. James Bell,’” she read aloud. “Now that’s amusing. I wonder how he picked that up.”

“An acquaintance of yours?” Meredith asked.

“In a way.”

Lily was momentarily transported back to that darkened theater pit, seated on a cushioned bench aside her bookish, bespectacled beau. She’d been so amazed at his ability to transform his appearance and seem an entirely different man. Now, after these weeks of marriage, it amazed her that no one else saw him as she did. Society recognized Julian Bellamy as a collection of wild hair and wilder clothes and loud, brash behavior, never taking note of the man beneath. A quietly handsome man, with sincere blue eyes and a passion for fairness. Keen intelligence, and a thoughtful, tender way.

That man was her husband.

The plain truth of it is, I have always been unworthy of you. You don’t know the half of what I’ve done.

“I think,” Lily said slowly, “Mr. James Bell may be more than a mere acquaintance.”

Amelia jumped on her chair. “Oh. He just said something new. Just now.” She beckoned for the paper, and Lily gave it quickly.

Craning her neck, she watched over Amelia’s shoulder as her friend inscribed a single word.

“Jericho,” Lily read aloud. “Well, that’s not terribly helpful. Is it?”

“Could mean anything,” Meredith agreed. “Perhaps one of his previous owners was fond of scripture. It could be a servant’s name, or even the bird’s name.”

“Or a ship,” Amelia said. “That was Michael’s first assignment in the Navy. I’ll never forget it, having written him so many letters that year. He sailed from Plymouth on the HMS Jericho. The vessel’s been retired now. I remember he pointed it out to me once when we traveled to—” She grabbed Lily’s arm, and her eyes went wide. “To Greenwich. The Jericho is now moored in the Thames, near Woolwich. It’s a prison hulk.”

“A prison hulk?” Lily’s heart jumped into her throat.

“Now wait. That’s a very big leap,” Meredith warned. “And we could be making it in the wrong direction entirely.”

“I know. I know you’re right,” Lily replied, the gears of her mind clicking at a furious whir. “But it’s the only direction we have.” How many miles was it to Woolwich? Ten? Fifteen? How fast could the carriage take her there? “We must leave immediately. There’s not a moment to waste.”

But before she could even rise from her chair, Swift entered the room. The aging butler extended a salver, on which lay a haphazardly folded note.

He bowed deeply. “Forgive the interruption, my lady. But an urgent message has just arrived for Her Grace.”

Amelia took the note and opened it. Her blue eyes shuttled back and forth as she scanned the lines of text. “Oh, no. It’s Claudia. She’s in labor. I must go to her at once.”

Lily was surprised indeed to learn of the note’s contents. But she was stunned immobile by the envelope’s reverse, where the words “Her Grace, the Duchess of Morland” had been hastily inscribed in black ink.

Lily knew that penmanship. Knew it as well as she knew her own.

“Oh my God.” Without even thinking, she leapt from her chair and ripped the note straight from Amelia’s hand. “Who sent this?” But she didn’t lift her gaze to receive a reply. Rather, she read the brief missive for herself.

Your Grace,

Lady Claudia has entered her labor pains. I have taken the liberty of sending for the doctor.

—P.F.

“P.F.? Who is P.F.?”

Amelia gave an answer as she tugged on her gloves. Lily couldn’t catch it.

“Write it down,” she insisted, urging the quill and inkpot toward her friend.

“I can’t right now,” Amelia said, gathering her shawl. “Claudia needs me. I must go at once.”

Lily slammed the inkpot on the table, ignoring the spatter of ink, and thrust the quill in Amelia’s face. She trembled so violently, the feather quivered in her grip. “Write. Write it down.”

While Amelia addressed the footman, Meredith took the quill and quickly scrawled something on a scrap of paper.

Lily read it. “Peter Faraday. Who is Peter Faraday?”

“Amelia’s houseguest,” Meredith explained. “Rhys and I brought him from Cornwall, and he’s been staying at Morland House. He’s injured. He … He was with your brother, the night he was attacked.”

A wave of dizziness dropped Lily back into her chair. She was completely disoriented. This bit of information … it both explained so much, and opened up entirely new questions.

One thing was clear. She had to get to Woolwich, and quickly. Julian had no idea what he could be facing.

Meredith touched her hand. “I’ll go with Amelia now. She needs help.”

“Yes, of course,” Lily said, pushing to her feet. She helped her friends to the door. “I pray all goes well with Claudia.”

“Thank you.” Amelia put a hand to her brow. “I only wish there were some way to get a message to Spencer.”

“Don’t worry, dear. He’ll learn of it soon enough.”

Lily intended to deliver the news herself.

“There they are. Those two, on the ridge.”

From their sentinel post atop the scaffolding, Julian followed Ashworth’s gaze. Two convicts labored on a rocky breakwater, some yards distant from the riverbank. The men, dressed in standard-issue buff breeches and brown coats, were shackled to one another at the ankle. Under the watchful eye of a cutlass-wielding officer, they passed and piled massive rocks, building up the breakwater. Julian noted with satisfaction that the prisoners’ tattered, soiled garments hung loose on their frames.

Good. They’d known hunger these past six months.

“You’re positive it’s them?” he asked.

Ashworth nodded. “Had a chat with the officer down at the dock. He confirmed the names. Nasty sorts, the two of them. Hardly—”

The boom of cannon fire forced him to break off. Between the clanging of heavy machinery and the occasional blast from the artillery range, the armory wasn’t a quiet place.

“Hardly model inmates,” Ashworth finished at length. “That’s why they’re working in shackles. When their day’s labor is finished, a guard will be striking the irons. An officer will give them each ten shillings and their papers, and then they’re on their way.”

“And so are we.”

Once Stone and Macleod left the warren, they would follow and bide their time. No doubt the convicts’ first order of business would be a pint at the local tavern and a visit to the closest brothel. With any luck, they’d apprehend the men once they were well into their cups, trousers tangled at their ankles. Three against two, and pistols in their favor. No contest. Perhaps they’d wrangle a name from the brutes then and there, and Julian would at least have a direction for his efforts. He wouldn’t be able to go home to Lily quite yet, but he would feel as though he were journeying in that direction.

Until then, they would wait and observe from here. “Here” being an unused bay in the dockyard. This small inlet for the repair and rigging of ships was flanked by high platforms on either side, accessed by rough-planked stairs.

By revealing himself to be the famed Lieutenant Colonel St. Maur, Ashworth had easily talked their way into the armory and dockyard. No one suspected. They were just a friendly group of gentlemen out for a ride, curious to have a look at things. Their greatest struggle had been shaking free of the many officers angling to tour them around.

Light footsteps clattered on the wooden steps. The men frowned at one another before turning to see who would join them. Another starry-eyed young officer, likely, hoping to trade battle tales with Ashworth or curry the favor of a duke.

But it wasn’t an officer who emerged on the platform.

It was Lily. His wife, clad in a violet traveling dress and dark winter cloak, rushing straight for him. Her heel caught on a board, and his heart plummeted, only sputtering back to life when she caught and righted herself.

“Jesus Christ,” Julian blurted out, taking his wife by the shoulders. He couldn’t help but give her a little shake. To be sure she was safe. To be sure she was real. “Lily, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m chasing you.” She panted for breath. “You unmitigated ass.” Her eyes blazed with fury, and she trembled in his arms. He’d never seen her in possession of such intense, evident rage and fear.

But she wouldn’t be here if her love didn’t surpass both of these.

His heart rolled in his chest. “This much, Lily? You truly love me this much?”

“Of course I do, you hateful man. Damn you.” She clutched her side with one hand and raised the other in a fist. Lowered it. Raised it again. Then punched his shoulder, hard.

He kissed her full on the lips. She struggled for a moment, having stockpiled all that nervous energy for the cause of defense. But he would not be pushed away. He held her tight with his arms and cherished her lips with the softest of kisses, tasting the sweetness of her skin and the salt of her tears. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips. “I don’t know how it’s possible to love you so much. I will die of it.”

The platform trembled beneath their feet. A powder explosion in the armory, perhaps. Or maybe just this kiss, shaking the foundations of the earth.

“See here!” the duke called.

With reluctance, Julian lifted his head, ending the kiss.

Morland waved them over, jerking his head toward the breakwater. “Looks as though they’re slowing work. Perhaps they’ll be released early.”

Julian turned to Lily and signed, “Go. You must go home. Now. This is men’s business. Dangerous.”

“No,” she said, still holding her side. “You don’t understand. It’s Peter Faraday.”

Peter Faraday? How the devil had she learned of Peter Faraday?