Cyrus gave him an approving look that did little more than make his guts roll.

“Your job is not yet finished, Samuel,” he said.

“My name is Nicholas.” It was the name he’d chosen for himself as a child when the Halls had presented him with the opportunity to redraft his life into something of his own making. It was a name the old man had refused to use, even when he’d brought Nicholas back into the family years ago to serve Julian. Nicholas, the patron saint of sailors, repentant thieves, children—all of the things he was and could be. The name made him feel more than protected. It made him feel like he could be a protector.

Naturally, the Ironwoods saw it as yet another way that he had failed.

Cyrus inclined his head. “You’ve pleased me thus far. I would like to raise the stakes some, if you are amenable?”

Something about the words caught him, held him in place for an instant, before he managed to shake himself free.

“Our business is concluded,” Nicholas said firmly. “I will meet with your man of business downstairs.”

And figure out a way to untangle Etta from this.

“That sum is hardly enough for you to buy your own ship,” Cyrus said. “Oh, yes, I am well aware of the reason you accepted this task. There’s no need for surprise. I am pleased with your vision. Your acumen. You remind me of myself.”

Nicholas felt as though he’d overturned a bucket of boiling tar on his head. “I assure you—you and I are nothing alike.”

Cyrus waved his hand again. “You’re entirely right. I cannot send the child alone. Not only is she likely to give herself away and be killed, she is her mother’s daughter. Wily and cunning—I looked into her eyes and saw Rose Linden staring back. I won’t be taken for a fool twice.”

Nicholas wondered if he’d also seen the flicker of recognition in Etta’s eyes as the girl had looked over the letter. He’d sensed the rebellion rising in her, even as she’d agreed.

“In addition to the original settlement, I will relinquish total control of my plantation holdings to you in this era, to do with as you please,” Cyrus said. “Free the slaves, sell the land, or continue it as it stands. You’ll fund not just a single ship, but a whole fleet of them.”

Nicholas’s whole body went tight, but he couldn’t identify the source of the feeling. Was it hope or terror?

“Why would you do such a thing? Sophia said that you had decided to stay in this era—that you were looking to purchase property,” he said. The Ironwoods earned income from several centuries, made investments, owned shares in lucrative companies. He knew this was merely a drop in the ocean of their wealth, but it came too freely offered. There would be shackles attached.

“Sophia is not privy to my thoughts. I have no desire to stay in this era beyond waiting for the astrolabe to be brought back to me,” Cyrus said, surprising him with an actual explanation.

Nicholas hesitated a moment before nodding for him to continue.

“In exchange for what I’ve offered, you will accompany the girl on her search. That girl has too much of her mother in her. She will try to abscond with it at some point. I will need you to ensure that she doesn’t reveal herself as a traveler, or meddle with the timeline, and see that the astrolabe is returned to me—all without revealing my conditions to the girl. Should she become aware of our agreement, our contract will be destroyed, and I personally guarantee that you will never set foot on a dock again. Not in America, not in Europe, not in the Indies.”

Nicholas felt the cold sweat collect along his spine, and tried to tamp down his desperate longing. He could picture being on the other side of this so clearly, and was struck by the profound power of finally being in the position to free the family’s slaves, of finally being granted reparations. This offer would open the door to nearly everything he desired. Money was power; he could demand respect, and spite those who would not freely give it.

But he could not help seeing Julian’s face. He could not banish the searing agony of that moment as it played out again behind his eyes. Yet again, he was being cast in the role of servant, put in a position to fail. Yet again, he owed something to someone who—

Julian’s face was gone, replaced by Etta’s, pale with terror. The image seared his heart.

Not again. He could not survive it.

“I realize, of course, that you are not a blank slate,” the old man continued. “You will need to ingratiate yourself to her, earn her trust wholly, so she confides in you about the location of the astrolabe once she has ascertained its location. If you are separated from her, you will return to me immediately and we will proceed accordingly.”

And leave her alone, to be lost, harmed, or taken, as she continued on without him in the meantime? The thought pricked his pride, stoked his fear.

Nicholas had promised her protection, vowed to get her away from Ironwood should the need arise; there was no question now that her life was in danger. But…perhaps he could reconcile his hopes with that promise. Keeping Etta safe meant not only shielding her from harm, but also preventing her from crossing Ironwood. Once they found the blasted thing, he could be the one to ensure the old man kept his vow. Nicholas could deliver her back to the passage in Nassau, wherever it might be.

What else was there to do? Give up the future within his reach for someone who, in time, would only be a memory? He had lived nearly his whole life for others—wasn’t it time to live for himself, secure his future?