Duncan drew the armchair closer and sat down.

His face was bronzed from the southern sun and tense with worry. His fingers twitched on his knee. “We were delayed on the roads. I came as soon as I heard.”

This wasn’t how I had pictured seeing him again. I’d been bracing myself for confusion and guilt, but all I felt was relief. He was safe—that was everything I needed for now.

I felt my bottom lip wobble.

“Oh, my darling…” His amber eyes were so warm, so filled with concern. “Tell me what to do.”

“Nothing. I only need a moment.”

“I will give you ten. A hundred.”

I smiled shakily. “One was enough.”

Duncan exhaled, the coil between his shoulders loosening. “Emmeline, it pains me to have to put you through this now, but acting quickly will give us an advantage in apprehending the murd—the man. I am going to ask you a few questions—I shall take the report in myself. Answer as best you can.”

I nodded, suddenly scared. Sewel could never be caught. If he was, my entire life would collapse. He was still my stepfather. I stood no chance against him.

Suddenly, I saw how this was everything Mama had warned me against. In the eyes of the law and of society, the testimony of an unmarried woman held less sway than a man’s—even a murderer like Sewel. With a few words, he could utterly ruin me.

“The man who came,” Duncan continued, “was he trying to enter the house? Was he trying to—to attack you?”

“Both.” The truth. For once.

“Can you describe his appearance? Had he any distinguishing marks or scars? Any disfigurements that might be useful in identifying him?”

I thought of the M on Sewel’s hand. His bulky shoulders. His addiction to rum. His missing toes. “I don’t remember. It happened so quickly.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

The questions went on. Duncan listened carefully to my replies, like he was committing every word to memory. When he was done, he came to sit beside me on the settee. For a moment, we said nothing. I was trying to remember how to be near him, how to share the same space. I suspected it was the same for him.

Gently, he took my hand. “Though it hurts me to see you in distress, I feel fortunate to be here now. Had this happened while I was away, I might have torn down walls with my bare hands. I am glad I am here instead, taking yours. You’re safe now. I promise you.”

They were fine words. Good ones. “Thank you, Duncan.”

“James…please.”

I managed a smile. “The South did you good, James.”

“Did it? I grew to like parts of it.”

“The parts that weren’t dug with trenches and redoubts?”

He smiled. “Yes. I did prefer the trenchless areas.”

With that, we were off. Back to ourselves. Talking easily again.

As he told me about the siege of Charles Town, I realized this was how it’d always been between us. Duncan talked. I listened. We were like a river—flowing one way. Never had I minded it before. I imagined I’d even helped make it so, with all the questions I put to him in the course of spying, but today the spy in me felt very far away.