“I was asked to discover what the British know of the coming French fleet. If they were to discover any information, such as landing points, gun and troop numbers, it would help them form a counterplan and rob us of the element of surprise.” He paused to press a kerchief to his face and then returned it to his pocket. “Miss Coates, I have been able to discover that they have knowledge of all of it. Everything we know, they know as well. What’s more, they obtained information almost as quickly as we got it. I can only think we are leaking intelligence at a very high level. I wanted you to know. What you’ve long suspected…you may have been right all along.”

I knew I was. A traitor was working against us, giving up our information.

I remembered Duncan’s mention of the French the night after Malcolm’s death a week ago. He’d known of their coming then. He had even said the British had been given ample warning.

“Monk,” I whispered.

I was getting close to him now. And I had an idea of just how to catch him.

“I believe you would like Maryland,” Duncan said that evening as we walked the garden paths.

Instead of a balmy night, like we’d had a year ago, rain showers had been falling on and off, putting most of the lanterns out. Putting the musicians out, too. They’d stopped playing halfway through Handel’s Messiah to run for shelter.

Most concert attendees had also given up on the gardens and gone in search of indoor entertainments. But a few, like us, had taken to the paths with the hopes the showers had ended for the night.

“ ’Tis a fine place,” he continued, guiding me around a puddle. “The vegetation is very pretty. There are fine lodgings, noble estates in the surrounding areas, and the state itself is quite charming and free of the sordid types that infest New York.”

“Sordid types? Do you the men in the city prisons?” I immediately wished I could unsay the words. It was becoming harder to hold back—and I needed to. Now more than ever.

Duncan stopped and gazed into my eyes. Like me, he’d made an effort with his appearance. His hair was braided into a pretty queue and fashioned with a ribbon the very same light caramel shade. A silver gorget shone at his neck, and his ceremonial sword flashed at his side. He looked thoroughly dashing. I’d thought so a year ago, and I still did, but the hum of desire I’d felt then was gone.

“Emmeline, your kindness impels me to want to be better. More compassionate and feeling. But on matters of war, there’s precious little room for compassion or feeling. A certain coldness is required—’tis the unfortunate truth, but the truth nonetheless. I feel that if we are always going to disagree on the treatment of the American prisoners, perhaps it’s best we set the subject aside for good.”