It took nearly an hour to reach Waverton Street.

Geoffrey jumped down; Tony followed. They handed their ladies down, then Geoffrey took his leave of Adriana and Alicia, and walked off.

Tony followed Alicia up the steps of the house, glancing as always to left and right. He’d caught a glimpse of his man on the corner, recalled the report that had been on his desk when he’d returned home that evening.

In the front hall, he waited with Alicia while Adriana went upstairs, and Maggs retreated to the nether regions; he was perfectly sure their charade wasn’t fooling Maggs, but he suspected it was important to Alicia, at least at that point, to preserve her facade as a virtuous widow.

Once Maggs’s footsteps had faded and Adriana had disappeared down the corridor to her room, he turned back to the front door and slid both bolts home. Alicia had picked up the candle from the hall table; on the lowest tread of the stair, she glanced back at him. He joined her; together they climbed the stairs to her room.

Her bedchamber was the largest, closest to the stairs. Adriana’s room lay along the corridor, two dressing rooms and a linen press separating the rooms. He had no idea whether Adriana knew he spent the nights in her elder sister’s bed; given the distance between their rooms, there was no reason she would have guessed.

The boys’ rooms were on the next floor, the servants’ rooms in the attics above. Following Alicia into her bedchamber and shutting the door, he reflected that thus far, her reputation remained safe.

If there was any reason to imagine it threatened, he would make his intentions public, but as things stood, with the ton believing her a widow and thus according her the associated license, there was no compelling urgency to declare his hand.

Indeed, he prayed the necessity wouldn’t arise, that once A. C. was unmasked and they were free of his threat, he would have time to woo her, to ask for her hand with all due ceremony. That was, to his mind, the least she deserved, regardless of their established intimacy.

He hadn’t intended that, but having once spent the night in her bed, the notion of not continuing to do so hadn’t even entered his head. The fact he’d simply assumed her agreement occurred to him. He glanced at her. She’d crossed the room to set the candlestick on the dressing table; seated on the stool, she was calmly letting down her long hair.

The simple, domestic sight never failed to soothe him—to soothe that part of him that was not, even at the best of times, all that civilized.

She had not at any time drawn back, either from him or from their relationship; her quiet, calm acceptance was both balm to his possessive soul and a wordless reassurance that they understood each other perfectly.

Indeed, words had never featured much between them. Aside from all else, he’d always believed actions spoke louder.

Sitting on the bed, he removed his shoes, then shrugged out of his coat. He stripped off his waistcoat, untied his cravat, all the while watching her brush the long, mahogany tresses that spilled down her back, a silken river reaching nearly to her waist.

When she laid down the brush and stood, he crossed to her. Bending his head, murmuring an endearment, he set his fingers to her laces, and his lips to the sensitive spot where her white shoulder and throat met. When her gown was loose, he forced himself to move away, allowing her to remove the gown, shake it out, and hang it up.

Unbuttoning his shirt, he inwardly frowned, returning to a thought that frequently nagged; it would be nice to give her more servants, a maid at least to take care of her clothes and see to her jewels…frowning, he pulled his shirt from his waistband. As far as he’d seen, she didn’t have any jewelry.

“Oh.” At her armoire, she turned, through the shadows looked at him. “I meant to tell you—something rather strange happened today.”

Clad in her chemise, she headed for the bed. He started unbuttoning his cuffs. “What?”

Picking up a silk robe, she slipped it over her shoulders. “A solicitor’s clerk called this morning.” Sinking onto the bed, she met his eyes. “Adriana and I were in the park. The man—”

“A weasely-looking fellow in black?” The description had been in Collier’s report; he’d read it before setting out for Richmond.

She blinked, then nodded. “Yes—that sounds like him. He insisted on waiting to see me even though Jenkins told him I’d be a while. Maggs and Jenkins discussed it, then left him in the parlor, but when I arrived home with Adriana and Geoffrey, the man wasn’t there.” She shrugged. “He must have got tried of waiting and left by the front door, but it seems strange that he left no message.”

He’d slowed, stopped undressing, giving her his undivided attention. He considered, then said, “The parlor?”

She nodded.

Biting back a curse, he swung on his heel and headed for the door.

“Tony?”

He heard her whisper, but didn’t answer. Glancing back as he went down the stairs, he saw her following, belting the silk robe as she came, her bare feet almost as silent as his.

Reaching the parlor, he opened the door. The fire was still glowing; picking up a three-armed candelabrum, he lit each candle from the embers, then, rising, set the candelabrum on the table beside the chaise.

Alicia silently closed the door. Her eyes felt huge. “What is it?”

Slowly swiveling, he studied the room, the window seat beneath the bow window, the bookselves flanking the fireplace and one corner of the room, the escritoire against one wall, and a high table with two drawers. “How long was he here—do you have any idea?”

Drawing the robe close, she considered. “It could have been half an hour. Probably not more.”

He waved to the armchair by the fire. “Sit down. This might take a while.”

Sinking into the chair, she drew her legs up, covering her cold toes with the hem of her robe, and watched him search the room. He was thorough—very thorough. He looked in places she’d never have thought of—like the undersides of the drawers of the table against the wall. He found nothing there, and moved on to the escritoire.

“Does this have a secret drawer?”

“No.”

He checked every possible nook and cranny, then shifted to the bookshelves. She quelled a shiver. Barefoot on the cold boards, he hunkered down; his shirt flapped loose about his chest, but he didn’t seem to feel the chill. He ran his hand along the spines, then started pulling out individual books, reaching into the gaps to check behind.

Tony had no idea what he was looking for, but instinct told him there would be something to find. He pulled out a slim volume; the title caught his eye. “A Young Lady’s Guide to Etiquette in the Ton.” Briefly, he raised his brows. Setting it aside, he pulled out a few more. They, too, dealt with similar subjects; clearly Alicia and Adriana had done considerable research before embarking on their scheme.

Making sure he missed no section of the shelves, he worked his way along.

He found what he was searching for behind a set of books on the lowest shelf, close by the room’s corner. A sheaf of papers had been jammed behind the books; drawing them out, he turned to Alicia. One look at her face, her eyes, assured him they weren’t hers.

“What are they?”

Rising, he moved closer to the candelabrum, and flicked through the sheaf. “Old letters.” He straightened them out, laying each on the table. “Five of them.” Sinking down on the chaise, he picked one up.

In a rustle of silk, Alicia left the armchair and came to join him. Sitting close beside him, she reached for one of the letters—he forestalled her, passing her the one he’d already scanned; she took it and he lifted the next.

When he laid down the fifth missive, she was still picking her way through the second. The letters were in French.

For a long moment, he sat, elbows on his thighs, and stared across the room, then he leaned back, reached for her, and drew her, letters and all, into his arms.

She shivered, and looked up at him. “I’ve only read one. Are they all similar?”

He nodded. “All to A. C. from French captains acknowledging ships taken on information supplied.” Three of the letters were from French naval captains; he could personally verify two of the names. He could also identify from his own knowledge the other two correspondents, both captains of French privateers.

The letters were extremely incriminating. For A. C.

Alicia had never been A. C., and indeed, the letters all dated from before her fictitous marriage had supposedly taken place. The name wasn’t what was worrying him.

She frowned at the letter she held, then shuffled the sheaf. “These are all addressed to A. C. at the Sign of the Barking Dog.”

Her tone alerted him; he glanced at her. “Do you know it?”

She nodded. “It’s not far from Chipping Norton.”

He sat forward. “An inn?” Getting to his feet, he drew her with him.

She shook her head. “No, a hedge tavern. Barely even that. It caters to a very rough crowd—most of the locals avoid it.”

He hid a grimace. The Barking Dog sounded like the perfect address for a villain. He doubted he would get any help from the innkeeper as to who had picked up the letters, but he’d send someone to inquire tomorrow.

Meanwhile…“Let’s go upstairs. You’re freezing.”

He drew her out of the room; she went unresisting, frowning, refolding the letters. Closing the parlor door, he saw her tiptoeing awkwardly to the stairs. Shutting his lips on a query regarding the whereabouts of her slippers, he strode after her, bent, and hefted her into his arms.

She looked into his face, then settled back and let him carry her upstairs. She’d left the door to her bedchamber open; he entered and nudged it closed. The lock clicked shut. She shifted, expecting to be put down.

He strode to the bed and dropped her on it. Filched the letters from her grasp when she bounced. “I’ll need those.”

She struggled up, watched as he crossed to his coat and slipped the sheaf into a pocket. “That clerk put them there, didn’t he? Why?”

“To confuse things.”

She swung her legs off the bed, stood, shrugged out of her robe and laid it aside. “How?” Turning back to the bed, she frowned at him. “What do you think will happen?”

“I think”—he stripped off his shirt and dropped it on his coat—“that you can expect a visit from someone in authority within the next few days. They’ll be looking for the letters, but”—he smiled evilly—“they won’t find them.”

Still clad in her chemise, she slipped under the covers. He looked down as he stripped off his trousers, hiding his smile, pretending not to notice as, once safely covered, she wriggled out of the fine chemise and tossed it to the floor. Once he joined her in the bed, it wouldn’t stay on her; better she remove it than risk him tearing it, or so he had given her to understand.

She was still frowning. “What should we do?”

Naked, he crossed to the dressing table and doused the candle. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. There’s nothing to be done tonight.”

He returned to the bed and slid under the covers beside her.

She was shivering, still frowning, but accepting his edict, turned into his arms as she always did, as ardent and as needy as he. Her openness was a blessing for which he would remain forever grateful; the instant their limbs met, and their lips found each other’s, there was only one thought between them, only one goal, one aim, one desire.

Her chill, her concern over the letters—and his—faded as that simple reality took control, claimed them, heart, minds, and souls fused them. Slumped, exhausted, and thoroughly heated, in each other’s arms, they surrendered, and slept. And left tomorrow’s problems for tomorrow.

Again, Alicia slept in. Lecturing herself that she couldn’t let the practice become habit, she climbed into a new morning gown of forest green, quickly coiled her hair, then hurried downstairs, expecting mayhem.

She came to a teetering halt on the threshold of the dining room. Alerted by the deep rumble of Tony’s voice, she looked in—stared.

He was seated at the foot of the table, keeping order, clearly in charge. Her brothers, of course, were on their best behavior; expressions angelic, they hung on his every word. Adriana… one glance at her sister as she slowly entered was enough to inform her that Adriana was intrigued.

The boys noticed her, and smiled.