Bronwyn lifted a brow, despite her racing pulse, and fought to keep her arms steady. No need to offer him a shaky countenance as more ammunition against her. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but she refused to show this man any weakness whatsoever. “I have two guns, one trained on each of you, and believe me I’m more than capable of shooting straight with both. Hands where I can see them, Larry.”

“Just get me the bloody list,” Wentworth ground out. “And I’ll never bother you again.”

She frowned, torn between shooting each of them so she could get away and finding out what had driven Wentworth to this point. “Why do you want it so badly? You gave it to me.”

“Because he”—Wentworth glowered at his surly counterpart with his hands in the air—“was supposed to retrieve it in Philadelphia and sell it to the Union general. Two birds, one stone.”

That made sense. Information cost money. Wentworth would have gotten himself a pretty payout by selling it. “I thought you were married and rich now.”

He scowled. “The dowry is gone.”

“Why did you try to have me killed in Paris?”

“That was before I learned that Larry here lost the list.”

Bronwyn’s frown deepened. Something wasn’t adding up. Wentworth was turning his back on everything he’d ever worked for, everything he’d stood for. He also wasn’t lacking in fortune, even with Sesily’s depleted dowry. In fact, in the year she had known him, he’d always been impeccably dressed. He could be up to his ears in debt, she supposed, but her instincts were firing. No, there was something else…something more than money.

“Why do you want the list so badly? Tell me the truth and we’ll talk about a deal.” She was playing with fire now, but confidence was the biggest part of this game. That and a whole lot of bluster.

Wentworth wasn’t a man used to being questioned. She’d seen it when he’d interacted with Sesily, and also with her on occasion, but she had always put it down to the usual male arrogance and power posturing when a female’s intelligence was involved. But now, she looked at him with fresh eyes. He loved power. He loved his position. What was threatening either of those?

“The shooter in France is on that list. He is linked to me.”

She swallowed, her arms beginning to ache from holding up two small but heavy guns. “Linked how? Was he like me? An operative.”

“Not exactly. A…relative.”

Bronwyn blinked. He’d sent an assassin who was family to kill her? That wasn’t it though. Her senses were still buzzing. “How is that related to an arbitrary list of names of American spies? You’re wasting time here, Wentworth.”

His face went dark. “You stupid, vain, puffed-up—”