“Yes—forgive me. I should’ve said that first.”

“Fortunately, there’s still time,” I replied, my voice high. My breath had run away from me. Duncan’s thigh was resting against mine, a solid and distracting presence.

“Is there?” A smile fought its way to his lips. “Good evening, Miss Coates. How do you do?”

“Quite well, sir. And improving by the moment. I am ready for your explanation.”

“And now I don’t want to give it.”

“Alas, we have already entered into a contract.”

“Have we? Very well.” He hesitated, then bowed his head to mine, bringing his lips close to my ear. “Will you allow me this nearness? ’Tis very loud in here and I would prefer not to shout my apology.”

I fought a shiver. His voice had melted half of me. I nodded.

“Thank you….Now, where to begin?” he said, his tone losing its formality. “Some time ago, I was told of how you lost your father and became a ward of the doctor’s.”

I looked up. “You heard gossip about me?”

“No—certainly not. I’d never allow it. Major André shared your story with me, trusting in my character to be respectful of it and knowing of my past. You see, Miss Coates, I lost my father at sea as well.

“ ’Twas a year ago. He was on an East Indiaman bound for Bombay when it struck a rock and wrecked. His body was never recovered. Not as harrowing as what you experienced, I imagine, but it haunts me knowing he is out there. Never properly laid to rest. ’Tis a feeling no one can understand…unless they have been through it.

“So when your uncle began a discussion of possible…possibilities, my interest to meet you was piqued. I admit, I came to Ranelagh Gardens more out of curiosity than anything else. But after we talked, I became very eager to see you again, inheritances and sad stories aside. The mistake I made was in letting that slip. My friends were quick to want to help, and that is how the ordeal by the river came to be. So now that I have…that I’ve— I’m sorry, Miss Coates. Pardon me a moment.” His eyes flicked up to the man standing behind me.

It was the sweaty-faced man who’d been with André and Knyphausen. Both of them had wandered off, and the sweaty man now spoke to an officer I didn’t know. He reeked of drink and swayed so badly his hip kept bumping the back of my chair.

“He calls himself ‘Monk,’ ” he snoached, in a high-pitched voice like a trumpet. “Though God only knows why—he couldn’t be farther from it!”

“Rattoon,” Duncan interrupted. “Have some discretion, sir. This is hardly the place.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” he replied, and hoisted his wine. “No need to worry.”