Cornwall, 1817

Nathan Oliver gripped the worn leather cache of stolen jewels to his chest and leaned back against the rough bark of the towering elm to catch his breath. A king’s ransom… almost there… almost done. He had only to cross the moonlit clearing, deliver the goods to the man waiting on the opposite side of the woods, then it would be finished. And he’d enjoy financial security for the rest of his life.

He dragged a long, slow, deep breath into his burning lungs, allowing his racing pulse to slow. His heart thundered in his chest, he could hear its beat in his ears, feel it in the hollow pit of his stomach. All familiar reactions he’d experienced the dozens of times he’d done this before, but this time all those sensations were heightened-for reasons he ruthlessly shoved aside. Damn it, his conscience certainly chose an inconvenient time to rouse itself. Still, in spite of his best efforts to prevent their intrusion, the second thoughts and guilt that had plagued him since agreeing to this particular commission continued to claw at him. Forget it. What’s done is done. Just finish this.

He cautiously peered out from behind the tree, senses on alert. The moon slipped behind a cloud, drenching him in darkness. A cool, sea-scented breeze rustled the leaves, mingling with the night songs of crickets and a nearby owl. Nothing seemed amiss, yet his gut tightened in warning-an instinct that had served him well in the past. He remained perfectly still for another full two minutes, gaze scanning, ears straining, but detected nothing out of place. Anchoring his bundle more firmly under his arm, he drew another deep breath, then ran forward.