Distantly she registered that, in common female parlance, these men would be termed “impressive,” with their broad chests, their height and their air of rugged physical strength. She was surprised she hadn’t seen them in any of the drawing rooms she’d visited with her aunt over recent months.

Another captain-blonder than MacFarlane-and two majors, one with light brown hair…she had to tug her gaze on to the other major, the one with rakish dark hair, then she finally found the colonel among them-presumably Delborough. He had dark hair, too.

She halted before him, lifted her gaze to his face, set her teeth against the emotions surging about the table; she couldn’t let them draw her in. Down. Make her cry. She’d cried enough when she’d reached her uncle’s house, and she hadn’t known MacFarlane as, from the intensity of their feelings, these four had. “Colonel Delborough?”

The colonel inclined his head, dark eyes searching her face. “Ma’am?”

“I’m Emily Ensworth, the governor’s niece. I…” Recalling MacFarlane’s instructions-Delborough’s hands and no others-she glanced at the other three. “If I could trouble you for a word in private, Colonel?”

Delborough hesitated, then said, “Every man about this table is an old friend and colleague of James MacFarlane. We were all working together. If your business with me has anything to do with James, I would ask that you speak before us all.”

His eyes were weary, and so sad. One glance at the others, at their rigid expressions-so contained-and she nodded. “Very well.”

There was an empty chair between the two majors. The brown-haired one held it for her.

She briefly met his eyes, a tawnier hazel than her own. “Thank you.” Ignoring the sudden flutter in her stomach, she sat. Determinedly directing her gaze forward, she found herself staring at a three-quarters empty bottle of arrack at the table’s center.