“It is too dangerous, my dear. You said yourself Mr. Kent’s Runners may still be watching us. Besides, how do you propose to find him? We have no way of sending him a message.”

True, in both cases. Someone was watching us, and since Lord Evan was supposed to be on his way to Jamaica, we had not organized a method of contact other than by letter when he had settled on the island. I had no idea where he might be. Certainly not London, since it was too dangerous, but that left a great deal of England to search.

“I could try the White Hart again, where he used to stay. Or maybe try to track where he went from Mr. Solson’s when he bought back Leonardo.” I was not, however, convinced by either option.

Neither was Julia. “Frankly, he would be mad to go back to the White Hart, and it would be impossible to track him.” She considered the problem for a moment, then a small smile appeared. “What paper does he read?”

“The Times, of course.” I caught up with my sister’s cleverness. “Ah, an advertisement.”

“Something that only you and he would understand.” She compressed her lips for a moment but could not quite contain her mirth. “Maybe a matrimonial advertisement: Lady of Quality seeks highwayman of good character.”

I snorted and, despite the seriousness of the situation, couldn’t resist adding, “Must be of a quiet and sympathetic nature, highly principled, and an excellent shot.”

Julia bent over, helpless with giggling, and clasped my arms for support. “Must exceed a height of six foot, dance every dance, and be accomplished in all the manly arts: fencing, riding, and stealing horses.”

“He did not steal Leonardo!” I protested.

“But he stole Sir Reginald’s horse.”

I had to concede the point. “For a good cause, though.” I gathered some mock severity. “We will come up with something more appropriate than a matrimonial advertisement, thank you very much.”

My sister’s face sobered, the laughter gone. “But would you marry him if nothing stood in your way?”

I had not expected the question. But then again, it was not the question she was asking. I took both her hands from my shoulders and held them tightly in my own. “I am not going anywhere, dearheart,” I said.

“But you may, one day, if we can clear Lord Evan’s name.”

“You know I would never leave you alone.” It was her biggest fear: to be left alone. To die, alone.

And yet, if we did somehow rehabilitate Lord Evan Belford in the eyes of society, would I truly be able to deny my love? I had done so once already—watching him ride away from me on his way to Jamaica—and I knew the cost to my heart.

4

It took an hour or so for us to settle on the advertisement for The Times.