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A drian paced the rickhouse, his posture tense, hands fisted at his sides. The scowl he’d been wearing for the past three hours strained his features. He hated the situation he found himself in, dependent on others to solve his problems. Having to stay here and wait when what he truly wanted to do was charge forth, pistols raised, ready for battle.

“Prowling about like a caged beast won’t help,” Samantha said, her steady gaze tracking his every movement from her seated position. “Come. Let’s discuss additional steps that need to be taken. I presume getting Murry back will be one of your more immediate goals. Ward and Turner too?”

A growl of frustration tore at his throat. “We should never have parted ways with them. Had we remained together, I could have sent them off now to serve as my eyes and ears. Instead, they’re probably halfway to France, if they’re not there already. Informing them of what has occurred will be a time-consuming nuisance, during which they will wonder what happened to us. It’s a damn mess and I am to blame.”

“Why?” She shoved her chair back and stood, hands on hips.

Her clothes were as filthy as his, the same she’d been wearing for days. Blood from the men they’d killed stained her breeches and parts of her jacket. Her boots were dusty, her hair a tangled mess piled onto her head, and a bruise from one of the recent altercations darkened her jaw.

The fierceness burning in her blue eyes made him back up a step. “You made a calculated decision based on the information available to you at the time. There was no way for you to know we would stumble across a group of child-smugglers or that Hazel, Kendrick, and Jackson would manage to track us down. Our situation has drastically changed in the last two days, and none of that change was caused by you.”

He stared at her. “What if my plan fails?”

A real concern he’d not yet let himself ponder.

“Then we will adjust our course accordingly.” Not a hint of doubt. Only absolute confidence. In him.

He shuddered beneath the weight of it. Because the truth was, a million things could so easily go wrong. They were relying on twelve other people, possibly more, to see this business through. Most of them criminal. All of them capable of betraying his trust.

The chance of him and Samantha being dragged back to London in chains existed. But if he was going to go after Hillford, if he was to find the man responsible for Evie’s murder, then he had no choice but to take that risk.

“This isn’t just about me and my freedom.” Here was the true burden of fear that sat on his shoulders. “It’s also about you and what might happen to you if this doesn’t work.”

She tilted her head, her footfalls measured as she walked toward him, closed the distance, and paused. “I’m here by choice, Adrian. Not because you forced me to be.” The torchlight caught her eyes. “If anything, I brought this on you .”

Nothing but truth. She’d staked her life on saving him. While he’d thought the worst of her, she’d gathered his men and forged a plan. He ought to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness. Instead, he raised his hand and set it against her jaw, allowed himself to savor the smoothness of her skin.

“What you did for me was better than the alternative.” She huffed a laugh and leaned into his touch. “No matter what comes next, at least we’ve been granted additional time together.”

She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his palm, the brush of her lips against the scar from their blood oath undoing some of his tension. Replacing it with a wilder, more feral response.

His arm swept around her, pulling her against him, her heat pouring through him, undoing him even further as need settled deep in his bones. Gripping her firmly, he hoisted her up off her feet, and carried her to the table.

They had time. At least an hour or more. Enough for him to enjoy his wife and to fill this dark cellar with at least one positive memory.