Bliss appeared at his elbow, for she loved a surprise, but Jamie had a feeling this wasn’t anything he wanted her to see. Nonetheless, he cut the twine away with his knife and laid back the plain wrapping paper.

The gift was a bullwhip, wound into a coil of lethal black leather. Jamie’s knees weakened, and he closed his eyes for a moment, fighting against memories of another whip, in another time and place.

Bliss was stricken dumb, for once in her life, but Peony put one hand to her mouth and whispered, “Oh my God, Jamie—”

Jamie bolted out the door, bent on catching up with the messenger, but he was too late. The boy was gone.

“What does it mean?” Bliss asked, looking from Peony’s face to Jamie’s. “Somebody tell me what’s happening!”

Jamie shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s a long story, Duchess. Peony and I—well, we made an enemy when we left Australia.”

Peony was pacing and wringing her hands. “I know this is all happening because I set the cane fields on fire,” she muttered. “If I hadn’t done that—”

“If you hadn’t done that,” Jamie broke in, anxious to reassure his friend, “I’d be a mess of bones underneath a tree. You saved my life, love.”

Bliss’s eyes were wide with the drama of it all, and she didn’t speak. At any other time, under any other circumstances, Jamie would have laughed at her expression.

“What are we going to do now?” Peony whispered.

Jamie’s hand moved, by habit, to the knife he was rarely without, his fingers resting lightly on the scabbard. “Just what he wants us to do,” he answered. “Wait.”

The day of her departure for America was drawing nearer and nearer, and with each passing moment, Bliss wanted less than ever to go. Even though Jamie would never have admitted it, he needed her.

As Bliss placed the few carefully folded items of clothing she meant to take with her into her satchel, she thought about the whip that had arrived several days before and shuddered. Something really horrible was happening, but neither Jamie nor Peony would tell her what it was.

It had to do with the scars on Jamie’s back, though. Bliss had been able to deduce that much from the nightmares that set her husband to tossing wildly in his sleep every night.

She sighed. There was no use in worrying, for she could do nothing to help unless Jamie decided to share the problem with her. Not much chance of that, it appeared.

Bliss went back to the suite’s main room, feeling bored and frustrated. If nothing else, Jamie had stopped locking her in; she would go out for a long walk. With the approach of September, spring was in the air.

She was just reaching for a lightweight cloak when someone knocked at the door. Forgetting Jamie’s warnings—he could be such a fussbudget—she swung it open wide, pleased at the idea of company.

The young man standing nervously in the hallway was familiar to Bliss; she’d seen him in the lobby and the dining room of the hotel.