She was surprised that he chose to stay in the same villa. It had not changed. It seemed that it was only yesterday that she had been here. Those were perhaps her happiest days—back when they were ignorant of the future.

"If you do not mind, I prefer to talk in your study," she said, walking straight up the stairs.

He sighed behind her but said not a word and followed. The days when she walked through the same corridors, their conversations and laughter echoing down its path, flew past with each step. Her eyes landed on his bedchamber door as she walked by and she wondered if it still looked the same.

His study was right next door. Stepping inside, she stopped and looked around while he walked past her and settled behind his large desk, face impassive.

Margaret realized she was barely breathing. The walls of the library seemed to be closing in on her, its memories milking her lungs of air.

"I see you did not bother to change anything," she forced out, walking toward the chair. As she sat, she realized how heavy she felt. How this felt so wrong.

The wall of books behind him reminded her of one particular night. It was fresh in her mind—the touch of his hands, his lips. The sound of the books falling on the floor, his breath that tingled her skin. The burning.

Her gaze flickered away from the memory and back to search his gaze. She didn't know which felt worse. The memories or the blank look in his eyes.

Clearing her throat, Margaret gathered her wits.

"What makes you believe your servant is a victim of a slave trade?" he asked, breaking the heavy silence.

"She told me she was held captive among other women in a manor. However, she couldn't say where."

"She escaped?"

She nodded. "To this day, I have not yet prodded for more information. She is very much in fear. My main concern is her safety."

"By providing her with the right papers."

"She wishes to change her name and I agree. A new identity shall offer security."

"Do you have reasons to believe she is being sought out?"

"If she is speaking the truth, yes." She hesitated for a moment. "Someone may have already found her."

His brow furrowed. "Found her?"

She nodded. "I've noticed someone following me." Anger was not the reaction she expected. His nostrils flared and his eyes pierced at her. "What?"

"You're being followed?"

"I think I am. I'm not certain."

"Since when?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I first saw him a few days ago outside the manor."

"And yet you go around without companion?" he gritted out.

She rolled her eyes. "I can take care of myself, my lord."

"Don't be foolish, Margaret. You're in danger."

"I'm always in danger. Women always are," she snapped. "We walk the streets covered from head to toe and yet we are still being subjected to men's unsolicited attention. What would you rather I do? Lock myself and my new servant at home and wait for someone to rescue us?"

"You could take precautions."

"I do."

"Do not take this lightly," he said, growling through his teeth. "If this girl is indeed a victim of a slave trade, you are looking into powerful enemies."

"I know. Why do you think I'm here? I'm looking for help and you make it quite difficult by judging my foolish moves."

"Because you don't give regard to your safety!"

"Why are you getting angry? I told you I can take care of myself."

"I don't see how you can do that if someone gets the opportunity to harm you."

She smiled. "They can try."

"This is no laughing matter."

"I'm very aware of that. I'm just strangely amused how very little you know me."

"I know you can be quite impetuous."

"I'm also quite good with guns and swords. And daggers."

He scoffed. "Of course, you are."

"Now, back to my concern—" She stopped and blinked in alarm.

"What is it?" he asked, brows fused in a frown.

She looked around. "Do you have..." She shifted in her seat with a grimace. "May I use your chamber to address some private concerns?"

He looked confused, brows dipping lower.

"Very private concern," she said, shifting in her seat for emphasis. "Please."

He sighed with resignation and nodded.

She jumped to her feet and scurried to the door. "Thank you."

Walking out, she went straight to his chamber. For a moment, she just looked around the familiar room, his smell intoxicating her senses as the interior overwhelmed her with distant sounds of laughter and paltry conversations of the past.

Blinking against the burn at the back of her eyes, Margaret walked toward one drawer. It was filled with fresh cravats. She closed it and moved to the next one. A cold feeling of dread came over her when she saw the neat display of round gold brooches inside. They were arranged in so perfect a manner, all of them bearing the Ashmore family crest. The emblem of a bird with its wings spread wide, claws on top of the letter 'A' on each piece reminded her of the evidence that linked Cole to the murder of Osmond Trilby.

Her eyes scanned the rest of the brooches and widened when they spotted the only one that was different from the rest. Her fingers shook as she reached inside to pick up the round, golden piece. Her eyes watered while she ran a finger over the amethyst stone in the middle.

He kept it, she thought in wonder.

Margaret returned the brooch inside the drawer and shut it close. She would not find anything that would implicate him to the murder here. He was too wise for that.

Yet he left a piece in Osmond Trilby's room, a voice whispered in her mind.

***

By the time she returned, Cole had managed to master himself. Margaret's presence in this place was waking up demons he would rather forget. Every corner of this library had a memory of them. Together. Young. Passionate. In love.

Happy.

"I shall aid you with this servant's papers," he told her. "She needs a new name and a sponsor."

"That would be me, of course."

He stiffly shook his head. "I do not suggest it. It will only put you in danger."

"I do not care."

It took all his control to not reach out and shake her to her senses. Could she not imagine the power of the people behind the trade? One word from them and they could make her disappear as easily as everyone else.

"Margaret, I'm serious. The slave trade is a dangerous business. The moment you dip your toes in it, you'll be swallowed whole."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

"How?"

"I simply do."

"How?"

His jaw tightened.

"Are you investigating it?" she guessed correctly. When he did not reply, her eyes narrowed. "You seem to already have enough knowledge about it."

"I'm a head of the Men of Courts. Of course, I do have knowledge about it."

She stared at him for a long time as if she was leafing through pages of a book for a phrase she could not remember. And by the time she blinked and looked away, Cole was almost certain that she discovered his secret. "If you say so," she said with a shrug, running her fingers through her hair before fixing her attention on a long line of books to her left. His entire body tensed at the movement, giving him glimpses of her doing the same just moments after waking up in his bed.

"The moment we settle Faye's papers, I intend to find help for the others."

If there was anything that could inflame him more than the thought of her in his bed, it was that last statement. "No, you would not."

Her strong emerald eyes flew back to him. "I don't intend to sit in my comfortable home while I know there are others suffering such terrible fate."

"That is not a job for you to take."

She lifted her chin haughtily. "Well, if the people whose job it is to do so would not do something about it, who shall?" She looked him up and down. "You said it yourself. You know about the slave trade. I wonder how you ever sleep in peace with that."

He held her gaze strongly. "I don't. Not for a long time."

His words arrested her and for a long moment, they just stared at each other, probably thinking of the same thing. The sleepless nights, the restless longing. She blinked away first. "Then maybe you don't have enough demons to sleep with," she said.

"Please, tell me. However have you made such judgement?"

She smiled. "You would not be this angry. Or furious." She leaned over. "You would have nothing left but a smile to fool the rest of the world. Smiling is the easiest to conjure, you know, when you're left with nothing after the demons consume everything inside you at night. Thus, anger, takes so much energy to summon."

"You can't judge my nights by how I choose to wield my weapons, Margaret. The anger is nothing but a clear reflection of the current situation. I keep my demons where they should be."

She sighed. "Oh well," she said with a shrug. "I must be wrong then. Perhaps you are the expert. I've only been dealing with one for years, after all," she said with an empty smile.

His face hardened. His strength was focused on keeping still as pain flashed before her eyes. He held his breath, watching as Margaret regained her composure, covering her staggering confidence with that empty smile as she squared her shoulders. "Good day, my lord."

"I'll take the bloody case." The words rolled out of his tongue faster than his mind could stop him. She stopped and turned to face him again. "Don't take it anywhere else. You don't know the connections these people have."

"And how do I know you will not report it to someone who may be involved?"

"You came for help, Margaret."

She considered his words. "I intend to be a part of this."

"No."

"Well, then, I wish you the best of luck on your case while I work to build my own."

"You do not have the resources."

"Please, do not underestimate my capabilities, my lord."

"This is not a game, woman."

"I'm old enough to know it isn't." She took a step toward him. "I will be a part of this, or I will not. Faye shall provide us with valuable information to start with, but I shall not share them with you if I won't know how or where you intend to use them." Before he could brush her off, she added, "Unless you think the past shall be a hindrance?"

"Of course, not," he spat out.

A beautiful smile broke her face. "Do we have a deal, then?" When he refused to answer, her brows cocked high. "My lord?"

This would be the first real witness he would have for the slave trade. He could not let it go. Thus, he stiffly nodded.

"I would appreciate you give me your world."

He glared. "We have a deal."

"Splendid!" she said. "Call for me if you are ready."

Long after she was gone, Cole stared blankly in space.

Then he blinked and cursed under his breath.

What in the devil had he gotten himself into now?