Kit felt like weeping with relief as he saw her standing behind the stout gaoler, a pomade ball raised to her nose to block out the prison's stench. She was dressed in violet silk with a matching vizard, jewels gleaming in her hair and at her throat, the stiff parchment of His Majesty's Warrant of Release clutched tight in her ringed fingers.

She had found him! She had not abandoned him! Loyal and true...he had found a rare treasure indeed. Pray God he never lost her!

Weary from a sleepless night, Kit left the ward, stumbling in her sweetly-scented wake, the clove-and-orange pomander dispensing a fragrance like warm sunbeams in the dank passageways. Neither of them said anything in the smirking presence of the gaoler.

"You're a fine sight, Mr. Fitzgeorge," Antonia remarked sharply as soon as the last massive gate crashed shut behind them. Her smile belied her tone. "But I trust you are well?"

"I am, now." Kit stopped in the middle of the street, braving injury from hackney carriages and delivery wagons, and took a deep breath, throwing back his head and shoulders. The air was as sweet and fresh as spring water, and the sun felt like a warm benediction on his face and hands. God, but it was good to be free! "I cannot thank you enough, my lady."

He turned to kiss her hand, but she moved discreetly away. Kit grinned despite himself, and followed her to where the Cranbourne carriage stood waiting. He was free again. All other defects could be remedied with a bath, clean clothes, and a shave.

"How did you manage it?"

Antonia busied herself with the jeweled pomander.

"I paid a call on His Majesty, and begged for your freedom." She wrinkled her nose, but Kit couldn't tell if it was a comment on her interview with the king, or because the errant breeze had wafted his admittedly pungent eau de gaol towards her. "I pleaded my weak female nature, which led you to gallantly defend my honor, and he graciously bestowed his pardon for defying his ban on dueling. He wanted," she continued, not meeting his eyes, "a fine of fifty pounds sterling and the honor of my favors."

"You didn't!" Kit exploded. "Better you left me in pris--"

Antonia cut him off. "Oh, I didn't play the whore, not even for the king. It cost me another thirty pounds, but at least His Majesty had the grace to look disappointed at my virtue."

"Eighty pounds, eh?" Kit shook out the grimy sleeve of his linen shirt, and examined it doubtfully. "I'll be a long time working off my debt to you, my lady."

"I'm sure I can find sufficient labor for you to perform, my dear Mr. Fitzgeorge," Antonia replied demurely enough, but the curve of her mouth under her mask scorched him.