She’d wondered, but hadn’t dared call his bluff or even question him while trapped in the carriage.

He looked up, raised his brows. Faintly shrugged. “I saw no reason to bother with your brother. I knew the threat alone would be enough to get you to behave.”

The relief that surged through her nearly brought her to her knees. The weight on her shoulders evaporated. She was free—free to deal with Sir Freddie as she wished, with only her own life at stake. A life she was willing to risk to secure her future—what choice did she have? She fought to keep any hint of her upwelling resolve from her face. She glared at Sir Freddie, then swung on her heel and walked on.

Trusting to his overweening confidence to keep him from wondering at her continued acquiescence for just a few steps more…

From behind, she heard a faint chuckle, then his footsteps as he followed. Up ahead to her right lay the wooden spar. Just a little farther; she needed the greater steepness, the change in their relative heights…

Again she stopped dead, swung to face him.

At the last second let her contempt show. “You bastard!”

She slapped him. With the full force of her arm as she delivered the blow, with him lower than she, his face at the right height to take the full brunt of her momentum.

He had no chance to duck; the blow landed perfectly. Her palm stung; he staggered.

She didn’t pause but turned and raced, scrambling up the few steps to the spar. She heard him swear foully, heard his boots scrabble on the path. Bending, she locked both hands on the spar, hefted it, and swung around. Driven by resolution laced with very real fear, she put every ounce of strength she possessed behind her swing.

He didn’t see it coming.

She wielded the spar like a rounders bat. He was still lower on the path than she; the spar hit him across the side of the head.

The spar cracked, broke, fell from her hands.

He slumped to his knees, groggy, dazed, but not unconscious. He weaved. Desperate, she glanced around.

There were no other spars.

She grabbed up her skirts, stepped around him, and ran. Fled like a fury down the path, leaping down from the workings and streaking across the moor to plunge into the dark wood.

Chest heaving, she forced herself to slow. The roots were treacherous; she couldn’t afford to fall. If she could get to the cottages and raise the alarm, she’d be safe. She didn’t even have to worry about Matthew anymore.

From behind her came a roar; the thud of heavy footsteps reached her, rapidly gaining.

Fighting down panic, she kept her eyes down, locked on the path, feet dancing over the tree roots—

She ran into a black wall.

She shrieked, then stilled as the familiar scent, the familiar feel of Tony’s body against hers, of his arms wrapping about her sank into her senses. She nearly fainted with relief.

He was looking beyond her, over her head. “Where is he?”

His words were a lethal whisper.

“On the path leading up to a disused mine.”

He nodded. “I know it. Stay here.”

With that he was gone. He moved so swiftly, so silently, surefooted in the darkness, that by the time, dazed, she turned, she’d nearly lost him.

She followed, but carefully, as quiet as he. She’d expected him to wait in the shadows and let Sir Freddie blunder into him as she had, but instead, he paused, waited until Sir Freddie was nearly to the trees, then calmly, determinedly, walked out of the wood.

Sir Freddie saw him. Pure horror crossed his face. He skidded to a halt, turned, and fled.

Back up the path.

Tony was at his heels almost immediately. Following as fast as her skirts would allow, she could see that he could have overhauled Sir Freddie anywhere along the upward slope. Instead, he waited until Sir Freddie gained the level stretch beside the gaping mine shaft before he reached out, spun Sir Freddie around, and plowed his fist into his face.

She heard the sickening thud all the way down the path where she was laboring upward. The first thud was followed by more; she couldn’t see either man but felt sure Sir Freddie was on the receiving end. She hoped every blow hurt as badly as they sounded. Gaining the level stretch, she looked, just in time to see Tony slam his fist into Sir Freddie’s jaw.

Something cracked. Sir Freddie fell back, onto a pile of rubble. He slumped, winded, but quick as a flash he grabbed a rock and flung it at Tony’s head.

She screamed, but Tony hadn’t taken his eye from Sir Freddie. He ducked the missile, then, lips curling in a snarl, bent, grabbed Sir Freddie, hauled him to his feet, punched him once in the face, grabbed him again, shook him—and flung him backward into the mine shaft.

There was a huge splash; water sprayed out.

Tony stood where he was, chest heaving until he’d regained his breath, then he stepped forward and looked down just as Alicia joined him.

She cast one brief look at Sir Freddie, spluttering, desperately searching for handholds on the slippery shaft wall, then looked at him. Reached out with both hands and touched him. “Are you all right?”

He looked into her eyes, searched her face—saw she was far more concerned for his well-being than hers— and felt something inside him give. “Yes.” He briefly closed his eyes. If she was all right, he was, too.

Opening his eyes, he reached for her, drew her to him. Wrapped her in his arms and gloried in the reality of her warmth against him. Cheek against the silk of her hair, he sent a heartfelt thank-you to fate and the gods, then, easing his hold on her, looked down at Sir Freddie, fighting to hold his head above the dank water. “What do you want to do with him?”

She looked down. Her eyes narrowed. “He told me he’d killed Ellicot, and he was going to kill me. I say we let him drown—poetic justice.”

“No!” The protest dissolved into a gurgle as Sir Freddie’s terror made his fingers slip. “No,” came again as he scrabbled back to the surface. “Torrington,” he gasped,

“you can’t leave me here. What will you tell your masters?”

Tony looked down at him. “That you’d sunk before I reached you?”

Folding her arms, Alicia scowled. “I say we leave him—a hemlocklike taste of his own medicine.”

“Hmm.” Tony glanced at her. “How about a trial for treason and murder?”

“Trials and executions cost money. Much better just to leave him to drown. We know he’s guilty, and just think—who forced him to come here from London? Did I make him spin me a tale about kidnapping Matthew?”

Tony stiffened. “He told you that?”

Lips tight, she nodded. “And just think of all the brave sailors he’s sent to watery graves! He’s a disgusting and debauched worm.” She tugged Tony’s arm. “Come on— let’s go.”

She didn’t mean it, but she was more than furious with Sir Freddie, and saw no reason not to torture him.

“Wait! Please…”Sir Freddie coughed water. “I know someone else.”

Tony stilled, then, releasing her, he stepped closer to the edge and crouched down to peer at Sir Freddie. “What did you say?”

“Someone else.” Sir Freddie was breathing shallowly; the water in the shaft would be freezing. “Another traitor.”

“Who?”

“Get me out of here, and we can talk.”

Tony rose; stepping back, he drew Alicia to him, pressed a kiss to her temple, whispered, “Play along.” More loudly, he said, “You’re right, let’s just leave him.” His arm around her, he turned them away.

“No!” Spluttering curses floated out of the shaft.

“Damm it—I’m not making this up. There is someone else.”

“Don’t listen,” Alicia advised. “He’s always making things up—just think of his tale about Matthew.”

“That was for a reason!”

She glanced over the edge. “And saving your life isn’t a reason? Huh!” She stepped back. “Come on, I’m getting cold.”

They started walking, taking tiny steps so Sir Freddie could hear.

“Wait! All right, damm it—it’s someone in the Foreign Office. I don’t know who—I tried to find out, but he’s wilier than I. He’s very careful, and he’s someone very senior.”

Tony sighed; he moved back to crouch at the edge. “Keep talking. I’m listening, but she’s not convinced.”

In gasps and pants, Sir Freddie talked, answering Tony’s questions, revealing how he’d stumbled on the other traitor’s trail. Eventually, Tony rose. He nodded at Alicia. “Stand back—I’m going to haul him out.”

Tony had to lie full length on the ground to do it, but eventually Sir Freddie lay like a beached whale, shivering, coughing, and convulsing. Neither Alicia nor Tony felt the least bit sympathetic. Yanking Sir Freddie’s cravat free, Tony used it to bind his hands before hauling him to his feet and, with a push, starting him back along the path.

Alicia’s hand in his, Tony followed his quarry back through the wood and out onto the road. Maggs was waiting beside Sir Freddie’s coach.

Alicia looked up at the box. “He had a coachman—he told him to wait.”

“Oh, aye. He’s waiting right enough, inside the coach.” Maggs held out Alicia’s cloak and reticule. “Found these when I shoved him in.”

“Thank you.”

Maggs nodded at Tony. “I was thinking we’d best leave ’em in the cellars at the George. I’ve had a word to Jim— he’s opening up the hatch.”

“Excellent idea.” Tony prodded Sir Freddie along the road toward the nearby inn. “Bring the coachman.”

Maggs had to lug him, for the coachman was unconscious. After a brief discussion with the landlord of the George, they left their prisoners in the cellars under lock and key.