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life."
    "I heard he and Lady Rutherford fought quite a bit leading up to his death." Owen held his hands loosely n front him, a contrast to the topic of their discussion.
    She nodded.
    "Could she be culpable in this plot, or with his death?"
    "She's a vile woman." Isabel spat the words. "Anything's possible."
    "She and her cousin are close." He began fiddling with one of his thumbnails, his discomfort palpable.
    Isabel rolled her eyes. "Don't be thick. Lady Rutherford has no cousin named Edward."
    Understanding dawned on Owen's face, and his previously visible unease faded away.
    She shrugged. "At this point, you know as much as I do. We need to get on that ship the minute it comes in and get our hands on the mysterious package."
    Keen intelligence lit Owen's eyes. "How did you know the key to the coded message and how did you first learn about the package?"
    "Lord Rutherford needed an American investigator to help, and I made sure he hired me. I learned about the package during my work for him. As for the coded message, I wrote it. The key is a nursery rhyme out of an American schoolbook. No Englishman would ever consider the key might be American in origin." Her cheekiness hit its mark if Owen's wince was any indication.
    "Was Rutherford aware he was hiring a woman? How did your letter reach him ahead of the package?"
    Isabel couldn't blame him for the many questions and gave him a saucy wink. "George Melbourne from the investigative agency of McHugh and Associates at your service. As for the other, this plot has been in motion a long time. I thought it best to let Rutherford intercept the package himself and on British soil."
    Owen lifted an eyebrow. "George Melbourne?"
    Isabel laughed. "How else was I supposed to make a living? My skill set is limited and specific. Besides, can you imagine me bored to distraction pursuing any of the normal ladylike pursuits?"
    "What about the globe? When you tripped in the study and knocked the globe over?"
    "Very few things I do are on accident."
    Owen took to his feet. The still way he held himself bespoke his cautious reserve. "What do we do now?"
    "Blend in and remain unnoticed until the Âne Hurlants makes port."
    His eyes wandering toward the door, Owen asked, "And your associates?"
    Isabel crossed her arms and stared at him. "Anonymity is our best ally, and I'll cut you down myself before I'll let you compromise it."
    Owen ran his hand across the lump on the back of his head. "I think I got your point."
    "I didn't mean for that to happen," she grudgingly admitted. "He didn't see who was trying to take me. If he'd realized it was you, he might have used a gentler touch."
    "He? You have a protector?" The judgment in Owen's voice soured Isabel's stomach. Before she cut him down for his assumption, he hurried on. "That came out wrong. I… You're obviously capable, but my memories of you as a young girl… I can't help but worry about you." Owen's words came to an awkward, stuttering stop that almost had Isabel feeling sorry for him.
    "You knew me once upon a time, and I may even think you're a good man, but if you compromise me, you'll meet your end at my hand." Bitterness simmered below the surface of Isabel's words.
    Owen's eyes filled with questions. "I can't compromise what I don't know."
    "Precisely." With that, Isabel opened the door and led him out. "Follow me and stay close. I'll return you back to the inn."

 
    Chapter Six
     
    A week went by with little change. Owen went out the door after breaking his fast, and Isabel followed him with her eyes. No doubt he'd be passing the day in yet another tavern listening to the chatter about freight, shipping companies, captains, and more. Without intending to, he'd already stumbled across two different smuggling operations and one ship's crew he suspected of involvement in piracy. He'd documented his findings and sent them off to Tobias in London like a good little agent.
    "Watch what yer doin', Iola!"
    Isabel glanced up in time to