“You have my confession, my lord. Why should my reasons matter?”

“Why, indeed.” A shape uncurled itself from the shadows beside the desk. Mr. Rollo Grenville, Juliana’s second cousin, stepped into the small circle of light. At twenty-six he was only five years older than Connor, but his elegant coat of plum-colored superfine and his polished manners made him seem like another breed entirely. “He has admitted to taking the five hundred pounds from your strongbox. ’Tis more than enough to send him to Newgate. I say we send for the magistrate and be done with the cur.”

Rollo’s words dripped with disdain. Juliana watched as Connor’s hands balled into hard fists, and felt the ghost of a smile flicker across her lips. There had never been any love lost between Connor and her pompous cousin—Lord knows there had been times when she’d longed to pummel the smug Grenville for the insults he’d made at Connor’s expense. But her father’s old first mate, Tommy Blue, had told her to pay the dandy no mind. It’s deeds what makes the man, not words spoke by some silly popinjay.

Of course, Tommy’s words lost much of their comfort when she recalled that Connor’s most recent deed was stealing five hundred pounds.

“I’ll not send for the magistrate.”

Lord Albany’s pronouncement brought shocked gasps from Grenville, Connor, and Juliana. She pressed her hand to her heart. Connor wasn’t going to prison. Her father had seen that somehow this was all a terrible misunderstanding—

“I’ll not send for the magistrate if you resign your commission and are out of London by tomorrow’s dawn and out of England by week’s end.”

Juliana’s relief shattered. In exchange for his freedom, her father was stripping Connor of everything he possessed—his career, his shipmates, the country he loved … and her.

“Well, boy, do you agree?”

No! Juliana wanted to scream. Do not agree. Say you didn’t steal the money. Say you never saw it. Say anything, just don’t leave me—

“I agree.”

Like a man who’d just been handed a gallows sentence, Connor backed away from the desk and gave a nod of respect to the marquis, then a swift, unreadable glance at the smirking Grenville. As he turned toward the door, Juliana finally glimpsed his eyes, his brilliant, sky blue eyes that had always gleamed with easy laughter. The laughter had died. In its place was the lost, hopeless expression that Juliana had seen only once before, on the long ago day when she’d first seen him on the London docks—a filthy, starving beggar boy who’d been too proud to accept her coin. With a soft cry she reached out to comfort him. His mouth hardened at the sound, but he passed her by without a word. He slipped out of the room, leaving behind a whisper too soft for anyone else to hear. “I’m sorry, Princess.”

The sob that had been building inside her finally broke free. Eight years ago he’d saved her from an icy grave in the Thames. He’d saved her from the loneliness of her mother’s death, and in the years that followed they’d become the best of friends. When Connor had left three years ago to join the Royal Navy, not even distance could break the bond between them.