Caroline had to allow that their words held sense, but she couldn't shake the serpentine shiver of fear crawling in her belly. She knew that she should trust her husband and James; after all, they'd been working for the War Office for years. Surely they should know what they were doing.

But something felt wrong to her. That's all it was, a pesky feeling that simply wouldn't go away. Caroline had few memories of her mother save for their stargazing outings, but she remembered her laughing once with her husband and saying something about feminine intuition being as solid as gold.

As she stood outside Seacrest Manor, Caroline looked up at the moon and stars and said, “I truly hope you had no idea what you were talking about, Mother.”

She waited for the sense of peace she usually found in the night sky, but for the first time in her life, it failed her.

“Damn,” she muttered. She squeezed her eyes shut and looked up again.

Nothing. She still felt awful.

“You're reading too much into this,” she told herself. “You've never had even an ounce of feminine intuition in your entire life. You don't even know if your own husband loves you. Don't you think a woman with intuition would know at least that?”

More than anything, she wanted to hop on a horse and ride to Blake and James's rescue. Except that they probably didn't need rescuing, and she knew that Blake would never forgive her. Trust was such a precious thing, and she didn't want to destroy theirs mere days into the marriage.

Maybe if she went down to the beach, to where she and Blake first made love. Maybe there she could find a little peace.

The sky was growing darker, but Caroline turned her back on the house and walked toward the path that led to the water. She edged through the garden and had just stepped onto the rocky trail when she heard something.

Her heart froze. “Who's there?” she demanded.

Nothing.

“You're being silly,” she mumbled. “Just go to the b—”

Seemingly out of nowhere, a blinding force hit her on the back and knocked her to the ground. “Don't say a word,” a voice growled in her ear.

“Oliver?” she choked out.

“I said don't talk!” His hand clamped over her mouth. Hard.

It was Oliver. Her mind raced. What the hell was he doing here?

“I'm going to ask you some questions,” he said in a frighteningly even voice. “And you are going to give me some answers.”

Staving off panic, she nodded.

“Who does your husband work for?”

Her eyes widened, and she was thankful that he took his time removing his hand, because she had no idea what to say. When he finally let her speak, his arm still brutally wrapped around her neck, she said, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

He yanked back, so that his upper arm cut into her windpipe. “Answer me!”

“I don't know! I swear!” If she gave Blake away his entire operation would be ruined. He might forgive her, but she would never forgive herself.