‘I know that you intended no harm.’ Jane made an effort to calm herself so that she did not immediately refute her own assertion that she could govern her conduct. ‘That does not lessen the hurt I feel because you did not trust me. Vincent, I need you to understand the substance of my anger. Our marriage depends on mutual trust and respect, and at this moment I do not have any faith that you feel either for me.’

Vincent grimaced and spread his arms to grip the doorway. He clung to it, veins standing out on the back of his hands, as a drowning man might cling to shipwreck. ‘On more than one occasion you have claimed that I do not trust you. First with glamours, now with this. What must I do to convince you that you are mistaken?’

‘Act as though you trust me.’

With an almost animal snarl, he released the door and stalked into the other room.

Jane closed her eyes, swaying. She had pushed him too far. Even if every word she uttered had been justified, a wife could not speak so to her husband.

‘Actions.’ Vincent stood again in the doorway. He held his battered writing desk. ‘Sit with me, and I will explain all.’

Now that she had won her point, Jane doubted the wisdom of her course. ‘What of the Prince Regent’s command?’

‘I am not married to him.’ Vincent tried for a smile and succeeded only in curling his lips. ‘Please, Muse. I have no gift with words.’

Jane nodded and followed him into the sitting room, but she took no triumph from her victory, for she could not help but feel that she had used emotion as a weapon. Beneath that unease lay another, deeper fear: that Vincent had been right she would give him away by some change in her countenance, and her husband’s life would be forfeit to her pride.

SEVENTEEN

Retreat and Regard

Vincent sat Jane down at the table and put his writing desk in front of her. He pulled his pocket-book out from his coat and opened the slim leather folding-case to withdraw the keys to his writing desk. ‘Now, I have been taking notes and then passing them to Mr. Gilman in Brussels, so what I have here are only those which I have taken for my own benefit. They will require some explanation.’

Frowning, Jane ran her gaze down the sheet of densely lined paper he had pulled out. ‘This is a recording of breeds of lambs.’

‘Yes.’ He drew up a chair and sat next to her. ‘Mrs. Gilman has no real interest in lambs gambolling. Her supposed requests were a code for Napoleon’s movements.’

‘So you knew?’ Jane lowered the sheet and stared at him in astonishment. ‘You knew he was in France.’