“Harry Frost was too smart for blanks. I told you that already. He’d have felt a lesser recoil, heard a lesser report. It had to be a real bullet. But I underestimated how canny he is. He sensed something was wrong with the sights in one shot. So bloody sharp that he compensated for the gun firing high on the second shot. Next I knew, I was flying off the cliff.”

“I saw.”

“Was I convincing?” Marco asked with another, almost imperceptible wink.

“I thought you were dead—Oh, my darling.” It was all she could do to keep from hugging and kissing him.

A smile twitched his whiskers. “So did I. I fell on the ledge, like I was supposed to, but I passed out. It was dark when I woke. I was freezing. My head was splitting. I couldn’t move my arm. All I knew was, I was still alive, and by some miracle Harry hadn’t found me for the coup de grâce.”

“That was because he knew I saw him shoot you. He ran.”

“Just as we planned.”

“But you weren’t supposed to die. Or even be hurt.”

Marco shrugged. “A minor detail. Nonetheless, the plan worked. Sort of. Harry’s on the run. Unfortunately, he’s overplaying his part—he should have been caught and locked up by now, or shot dead. But you have a wonderful aeroplano in the race, just as we planned.”

“What about you, Marco?”

Marco didn’t seem to hear her. He said, “You will win the greatest race in the world.”

“Win? I’m a day behind already, and it just started.”

“You will win. I will see that you win. Don’t you worry. No one will stay ahead of you.”

He sounded so sure, she thought. How could he be so sure? “But what about you, Marco?”

Again, he didn’t seem to hear her question, saying, “And you have a suitor.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every one at Belmont Park said that Preston Whiteway has fallen in love with you.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s just a crush.”

“He had your marriage annulled.”

“I didn’t ask him to. He just went ahead and did it.”

“You were supposed to charm him into buying you an aeroplane. But when you ask, ‘What about you, Marco?’ you seem to have already answered your own question.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t sound like there is anyplace in your scheme for Marco.”

“It’s not my scheme. I just wanted your aeroplane. Like we planned.”

“You got more than we originally planned.”

Josephine felt hot tears spring to her eyes. “Marco, you can’t believe that I would prefer Whiteway to you.”

“How can I blame you? You thought I was dead. He is rich. I am a poor aeroplane inventor.”

“He could never replace you,” she protested. “And now that you’re back, we can—”