Knox Armstrong, her bastard brother, the son of a woman whose identity Knox claimed never to have known. He was the same age as she, both of them twenty-one now, and both of them seven years younger than Bryce. They had grown up in the nursery together, had been as close to one another as twins. When they were thirteen, Knox was sent to apprentice with a duke. He’d come back a grown man with gold hair and dancing blue eyes.

Margot loved Knox above all others.

“You won’t miss me. I don’t intend to go. Who has said this about Mackenzie, Knox?” she asked him plaintively. “How can it be true?”

Knox shrugged. “I know only as much as you, dear heart. I know only that Father met Sir Richard Worthing, who had been in the company of Thomas Dunn from London. He was quite agitated after speaking with them. That’s all I know, really, other than that Sir Worthing will accompany you to Balhaire.”

“No. I won’t go.”

Knox put his arm around her. “Listen to me, love. If there is even an ounce of truth, we must know it, or all will be lost. There is no one else who can do this, is there? Think if I or Bryce were to appear at Balhaire—he’d never give us entry.”

Dear God, he was right.

“Look, I have a gift for you.” He handed her a box.

Margot opened it; it was lined with silver paper, and beneath the folds of the paper was a pair of goatskin riding gloves. “Knox...they’re beautiful,” she said, pressing them to her face.

“Let Mackenzie know that you’ve been well-cared-for here.” He drew her to him, and as tears came to Margot’s eyes, he held her. “It’s not as difficult as you think,” he assured her.

“You don’t know him,” she said of her husband. “He’s very clever. He will not be happy to see me, Knox.”

“You do your beauty a disservice, darling. Men are simple creatures. He might be angry at first, but like all men, he wants to feel as if he is the master of his world and there is a woman to notice and adore him for it. Do that, and he will give you whatever you want.”

“He won’t tell me about the French,” she said plaintively. “He won’t. I know this man. He will suspect my motives for coming back, and especially if I ask him any questions.”

“Then don’t ask,” Knox said simply.

“There is no one else I may speak to!” she said. “Pappa said I must not tell anyone why I’ve come back, not even Nell. How am I to discover what he’s about if I can’t ask him?”