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searching for a distraction. A few minutes remained before Fortescue arrived, but if Yasmeen didn’t find something to occupy herself, their navigator would find them writhing naked on the desk, instead.
    Probably best not to look at the desk now, either.
    Her gaze lit on the pile of correspondence on the table. Not just letters—packages, too. Some that might have been stacks of pages bound together. “Is the Lady Lynx story in there?”
    “It is.” His long stride carried him to the table, but he picked up a small envelope rather than a manuscript. “I plan to read it to you tonight.”
    She would love that. “And is there any other news?”
    “Zenobia wants us to know that the origin of Lady Lynx has been found out.”
    A bit late. Yasmeen automatically took the letter he held out, then read the direction in surprise. She rarely received correspondence, and none of it came to Port Fallow—she collected it from her solicitor. “This was addressed to me?”
    “From Scarsdale.”
    A good friend, but not usually the writing sort. She broke the seal, and her belly seemed to drop. Not a letter. An invitation.
    Watching her face, Archimedes frowned. “What is it?”
    “His wedding.”
    “To a woman?”
    Unfortunately, it was the only sort of marriage Scarsdale could have. “It’s his duty to produce an heir,” she said. “Goddammit. As long as his prick still works, he can do his duty. Why couldn’t he go on as he was and marry when he was an old man? And why the hell invite
me?
Perhaps he hopes that my presence will horrify the wedding party so much, the bride will flee.”
    But, no. Though she wished it, Yasmeen knew that wouldn’t be why. Scarsdale had many friendly acquaintances, but few friends. She was one—and he wanted her there for that reason alone. Still, as his friend, she’d make damn certain he absolutely wanted this.
    Casually, Archimedes said, “Since the navigator is coming soon, perhaps we ought to decide where we’re heading next.”
    Yasmeen glanced up at him. “Not Cordoba?”
    “Eventually. But I thought we might visit Zenobia first, to make certain she’s all right. Afterward, why not detour to England and visit Scarsdale?”
    “Oh, you are a brilliant man. Unless I’m convinced that he truly wants this marriage, we’ll abduct him and tell his bride that I had my way with him. No gentle-bred miss would want him after that.” She narrowed her eyes at him when he laughed. “Why do you think Zenobia might not be all right?”
    “She received a visit from my old partner. It upset her.”
    His old partner…“Bilson?” She headed back to the desk after all, and found a note she’d tossed there earlier. “This arrived shortly after you left this afternoon. Then you distracted me with your dancing, and I forgot. It’s from Miles Bilson.”
    Archimedes’ dark brows drew together as he read the note. “He’s requested a meeting. He thinks I can help him.”
    No doubt Archimedes
could.
But Bilson had probably asked because Archimedes was the sort of man who
would.
“What kind of help?”
    “It doesn’t say.”
    And he wasn’t expressing much interest in finding out. “You don’t seem that eager to meet your friend.”
    He glanced up. “I enjoy his company quite a bit. But I know him well; he always has some sort of game in play. Perhaps notthis time, but I’d be a fool not to wonder if I’m part of a greater plot.”
    And he wasn’t a fool. “Why was Zenobia upset by him?”
    “She had tender feelings for him—I hadn’t even realized. But she’s also certain that he’s here for money, and that he felt cheated when I sank those war machines.”
    Yasmeen’s protective instincts sharpened. “Do
you
think he felt cheated?”
    He shook his head, studying the note again as if to discern Bilson’s intentions from the slant of the letters, the darkness of the ink. “I can’t say. I don’t think so. But it’s been years.”
    A seed of resentment could have grown