“No offense taken. I shall tell myself your opinion is formed by poor beans and poorer preparation.”

He rises and bends by the fire, and I have no idea what he’s doing because I’m too busy admiring the view, as he has not taken time to dress yet.

He brings over the small cup, that traitorously delicious smell wafting up. “Will you try some?”

I take it and sip. Then I take another sip.

“That is coffee?” I say.

“That is coffee, not whatever nastiness your brother-in-law procures.”

I drink some more.

“While I am pleased that you enjoy it, I will admit this is not how I intended to begin the morning. I planned to sketch you until you woke and then to crawl back into the blankets with you and while the day away in pleasure, pretending that nothing else requires my attention.” He sighs. “I can be terribly selfish for a man who has made a reputation of being good.”

I put an arm around his neck and slide onto his lap. “I have a feeling you are far better at imagining being selfish than actually being it. As much as I would also love to spend the day in these blankets, I suspect that will be far more pleasurable after we both feel we have accomplished something more productive with our day.”

He drops his head to my shoulder. “You are far too sensible, crécerelle.”

“No, I am far too selfish, wanting to protect our time together for when we can both relax and enjoy it.”

“True enough.” He twists me on his lap to face him. “So, I have goods to deliver, but that is not a matter of urgency. Andrés’s death is.”

“We must learn for certain who killed him so we may free his spirit. Which means I must start by asking a very awkward question. I know whoever told you he was in York is someone you trusted, but—”

Nicolas groans and thumps onto his back. As I am currently on his lap, with his arms around me, I thump down onto him, awkwardly twisted.

“Umm . . .” I say.

“I was being dramatic.”

“Understood, but perhaps do not take me along with you?”

I start to rise, and accidentally—yes, I declare it a complete accident—elbow him on my way up. He lets out a soft “oomph” and then pulls me down again, this time onto my stomach atop him.

“You really do not want to get up today, do you?” I say.

“I really do not.” He tugs me up so I’m looking down at him. “It was Mademoiselle M.”

I say nothing. I do not dare. I have already been suspicious of Miss Jenkins—Mademoiselle M—purely because she is infatuated with Nicolas, and that bothers me more than it should.

“Also, Mademoiselle M was the one I was supposed to meet the other day when I encountered Norrington’s naval men instead.”

“What?”

He winces. “Yes, I am well aware of how this looks. I also ought to admit that she is Lord Norrington’s niece.”