“One thing-Hamilton has no other Anglo friends, just those three officers?”

“Yes, miss. They all came from Calcutta some months ago, and have kept to themselves.”

Which would explain why she’d learned nothing of Hamilton through the Bombay social grapevine. She nodded to Chandra. “Very well. Let me know what you learn.”

September 15, 1822

The Governor’s Residence, Bombay

“He’s left?” Emily stared at Chandra. “When? And how?”

“This morning, miss. He took the sloop to Aden.”

“He and his servants?”

“So I heard tell, miss-they were already gone when I got there.”

Mind racing, she asked, “The other three-have they gone, too?”

“I have only had the chance to check on the colonel, miss. Apparently he left on the company ship this morning. Everyone was surprised. No one knew they were leaving so soon.”

The company ship was a mammoth East Indiaman which went via the Cape to Southampton. She was due to board a sister ship in a few days.

“See what you can learn about the other two-the other major and the captain.” If all four had precipitously departed Bombay…

Chandra bowed and left.

Emily felt a headache coming on.

Gareth Hamilton-he who might be her “one”-had left Bombay via the diplomatic route. Why?

Regardless of his motives, his sudden departure left her with a very big unanswered question-and an even bigger decision to make. Was he her “one,” or not? She needed more time with him to tell. If she wanted to get that time, following him might-just-be possible. If she acted now.

Should she follow him, or let him go?

Closing her eyes, she revisited those moments in the officers’ bar, the only moments on which she could judge him. Surprisingly vividly, she recalled the sensation of his fingers closing around hers, felt again that odd leap of her pulse, the frisson that had set her nerves jangling.

Felt, remembered, relived.

On a sigh, she opened her eyes. One point was inescapable.

Of all the men she’d ever met, only Gareth Hamilton had affected her in the slightest.

Only he had set her heart racing.

September 16, 1822

The Governor’s Residence, Bombay

“Good evening, Uncle.” Emily swept into the dining room and took her seat on her uncle’s right. They were the only two at dinner. Her aunt was still in Poona-which was a very good thing. Flicking out her napkin, she smiled at the butler, waited for him to serve her and step back before she said, “I have an announcement of sorts to make.”

“Oh?” Her uncle Ralph rolled a wary eye her way.

She smiled. She and Ralph had always got on well. “Don’t worry-it’s only a minor change in my plans. As you know, I was scheduled to depart on the company ship two days hence, but after speaking with others I’ve decided that, as I came by that route, I should instead go home by the direct and more scenic way.” She waved her fork. “See Egypt and the pyramids-and as it is the diplomatic route, there’s unlikely to be any serious danger, and plenty of embassies and consulates to call on for help if luck says otherwise.”

Ralph chewed, frowned. “Your father won’t like the idea, but then he won’t know-not until you’re standing in front of him again.”

Emily grinned. “I knew I could trust you to see the salient point. There’s really no reason I shouldn’t go home that way.”

“Assuming you can find passage at short notice. Your parents are expecting you back in four months-going via Cairo you’ll be able to surprise them, if you can find a berth-” Seeing the light in her face, Ralph broke off. “You’ve found one, I take it.”

Emily nodded. “And yes, it’s on one of the sloops the company regularly uses, so the captain and crew are vouched for.”

Ralph considered, then nodded. “Well, you’re the most sensible young lady I’ve ever known, and you’ll have Watson and Mullins with you, so I trust you’ll be all right.” He cocked a brow at her. “So, when do you leave?”

One

17th September, 1822

My cabin aboard the sloop Mary Alice

Dear Diary,

As usual, I will endeavor to record my thoughts at 5 o’clock every afternoon, before I dress for dinner. This morning I departed Bombay, and I understand we are making good time as the Mary Alice slices its way through the waves to Aden.

And yes, I acknowledge that it’s undeniably bold to be pursuing a gentleman as I’m pursuing Major Hamilton, but as we all know, fortune favors the bold. Indeed, even my parents should accept the necessity-they sent me to Bombay because I dragged my heels over choosing any of the young men who offered, opting instead to wait for my “one,” as all my sisters-and I suspect my sisters-in-law, too-did. I have always maintained that it was simply a matter of waiting for the right man to appear, and if Major Hamilton proves to be my right man, then at the ripe old age of twenty and four, I doubt anyone would argue against my pursuing him.

Of course, I have yet to determine if he truly is my “one,” but I can only decide that after meeting him again.

Speaking of which…he and his party are two days ahead of me.

I wonder how fast a sloop can go?

E.

1st October, 1822

My cabin aboard the Mary Alice

Dear Diary,

The answer to my last question is: quite amazingly fast when all sail is risked. My being extra charming to the captain and challenging him to demonstrate how fast his ship can go has paid a handsome dividend. We passed the Egret, the sloop carrying the major and his household, sometime last night. With luck and continuing fair winds, I will disembark in Aden before him, and he will have no reason to suspect I set out on this journey to follow him.

E.

October 2, 1822

Aden

What the…?” Gareth Hamilton stood in the bow of the Egret and stared incredulously at the pale pink parasol bobbing through the crowd on the wharf alongside.

They’d followed another of the company sloops into the harbor, and had had to wait for that vessel, the Mary Alice, to be unloaded first.

His bags, along with the minimal luggage carried by his small but efficient household-his batman, Bister, his houseman, Mooktu, an ex-sepoy, and Mooktu’s wife, Arnia-were being stacked that very minute on the wooden wharf, but that wasn’t the cause of the consternation-to put it mildly-that had seized him.

He’d noticed the parasol bobbing down the gangway of the Mary Alice, tied up almost at the end of the long wharf. He’d watched the bearer, a lady in matching pale pink skirts, tack and weave through the crowd. She and the contingent of staff following at her heels, with one heavily muscled man clearing a path through the noisy, jostling throng ahead of her, had to pass along the wharf beside the Egret in order to enter the town.

Until a moment ago, he hadn’t been able to see the parasol holder’s face. But passing the Egret, she’d tipped the parasol aside and glanced up-and he’d glimpsed…a face he hadn’t expected to see again.

A face that, for the last few weeks, had haunted his dreams.

Yet all but immediately, the damn parasol had come up and re-obscured his view.

“Damn!” One part of his mind was telling him, calmly, that it couldn’t possibly be she, that he was seeing things he wanted to see…Some other part, a more visceral part, was already sure.

He hesitated, waiting to see again-to know for sure.

Movement in the crowd behind the parasol caught his eye.

Cultists.

His blood literally ran cold. He’d known they’d be waiting for him-he and his people were expecting a welcome.

But Emily Ensworth and her people weren’t.

He’d vaulted the railing on the thought. He landed on the wharf, his gaze locked on her.

He came up from his crouch with considerable momentum, cleaving his way bodily through the crowd. He came up with her just in time to grab her and haul her away from the blade a cultist thrust at her.

Her gasp was drowned beneath a cacophony of sound-exclamations, shrieks, shouts. Others had seen the menacing sword, but even as the crowd turned and garrulously searched, the cultists melted away. Taller than most, Gareth saw them pull back. Over the heads, one cultist-an older, black-bearded man-met his eye. Even across the distance, Gareth felt the malevolence in the man’s gaze. Then the man turned and was swallowed by the crowd.

Mooktu appeared by Gareth’s shoulder. “Should we follow?”

Bister was already further afield, scouting.

Gareth’s instincts screamed follow, to pursue and deal appropriately with any cultist he could find. But…he glanced down at the woman he still held, his hands locked about her upper arms.

With her parasol now askew, he looked down into wide, moss-hazel eyes. Into a face that was as perfect as he recalled, but pale. She was stunned.

At least she wasn’t screaming.

“No.” He glanced at Mooktu. “We have to get away from here-off the docks-quickly.”

Mooktu nodded. “I’ll get the others.”

He was gone on the word, leaving Gareth to set Miss Ensworth back on her feet.

Gently, as if she were porcelain and might shatter at any instant.

“Are you all right?”

As the warmth-the heat-of his hard hands fell from her, Emily managed to blink. “Y-yes.” This must be what shock felt like.

Indeed, she was amazed she hadn’t swooned. He’d seized her, dragged her from danger, then held her close, effectively plastered to the side of his body. His brick-wall-hard, excessively warm-not to say hot-body.