After only a few minutes, Vincent returned to her, his long legs eating the space between them. The tails of his coat flapped as he walked. Without a word, Vincent took her by the arm and led her upstairs. She could feel him curtailing the length of his stride to match hers. No sooner had they set foot in their apartments than she said, ‘Will you tell me what happened to you today?’

‘I was on the road to Brussels. It seemed to me as if the traffic were heavier than usual.’ He pulled aside the curtains by the window, looking first on one side then on the other. ‘I quickly learned that Napoleon had landed some two weeks ago, and was proceeding to Paris with no resistance.’

‘But General Ney . . .’

‘Will not stop him.’ Vincent paced restlessly to their bedroom, peering into the room and then behind the door. ‘I have asked M. Chastain to arrange passage for you on the next ship to England.’

‘Passage for me? What of you?’

‘I will stay and study with M. Chastain. There is no need for you to stay as well.’

‘Nor is there need for me to flee. We are in Belgium, not France, and we are perfectly safe here.’ She did not mention the incident at the notions shop nor remind him of the events on their trip to Binché. ‘M. Chastain is not sending his students away.’

‘None of his students are my wife, nor are they carrying my child.’

Anger rose in Jane, and she knew it stood out like a red badge upon each of her cheeks. ‘I will not be sent away like I am an object. If you feel secure in staying here—’

‘I do not!’ Vincent stopped and wrapped both hands in his hair, pulling his head toward his chest. ‘I do not feel secure in staying here, but I must. Please, Jane, for the love you bear me, please go because I have asked.’

Her breath was but shallow, and silence stood tense between them. ‘What are you not telling me, Vincent? Why must you stay?’

He groaned and paced in a circle away from her. ‘Why must I stay . . . why indeed?’ Vincent stopped at the window and faced her, posture rigid with tension. ‘I am here as a spy for England. Somewhere in this town is a stronghold of the Bonapartist movement with plans to assassinate King Louis XVIII. With Napoleon on the move, it is all the more vital that I be here. Jane . . . any Briton who stays in Belgium is in danger, but if we were discovered, we would be shot. I can take that risk for myself, but cannot ask you to do the same.’

Jane set her hands into fists so tight that her nails bit into the palms. She had to clench her jaw to keep the rage from spewing forth.