Lisbeth had said she would do her best to ensure Bronwyn’s safety, but even he knew it was a man’s world in that office. The capture of the Kestrel would be a coup, propelling whoever took over to instant notoriety, and the newssheets would be in raptures. They already salivated at the thought of the man. The fact that he was a woman would rock London. It would be the scandal to top all scandals—DUKE’S SISTER EXPOSED AS INTERNATIONAL SPY.

Valentine rubbed at his chest, soothing the queer, piercing ache. Even if he believed her and somehow managed to help her to clear her name by proving she was a secret operative serving her country as she claimed, her reputation would take a thrashing. The newspapers would not be kind. They never were. And no doubt, some of his peers in the Lords would have a field day using the scandal to bring Ashvale low.

You could let her go.

He balked, blinking. Letting her go meant going against everything he’d been taught. Everything he’d ever fought for. But if he did, he could figure out her claims on his own, find out who her contact was, and then take her into the Home Office when he had solid evidence. He knew Lisbeth would back him up, whatever he decided, but that meant putting her in an ugly position with her supervisors. She would have to lie to cover his tracks, and that did not sit well with him.

Walking over to the railing where Rawley was smoking a cheroot, Valentine studied the churning ocean. A storm was coming in, darkening the morning sky to an overcast, ominous gray. He was glad they’d escaped bad weather while in the middle of the Atlantic. Even on a ship of this size, those storms could be deadly.

“Did you find out who those men were from the tavern?” Valentine asked the silent man. “The ones after her, who hired them?”

Rawley nodded, flicking the burning end of his cheroot into the waves. “Some chatter, not much. They were local men, but the ones I questioned didn’t know anything. Low-end bully ruffians, if that. The big brute mentioned the name Lewis Payne.”

Lisbeth let out a sharp exhale and they exchanged a look. That was one of Lewis Powell’s many aliases. He was a dangerous man as well as a known entity from Sommers’s list of acquaintances. The plot was sprawling wider and wider, giving some veracity to the idea that Bronwyn might have been involved in something much bigger. He slid the page she’d had on her person from his pocket and studied the names. Brent Sommers. Lewis Payne. John Surratt. John Wilkes Booth.