A Gentleman's Honor

TEN

“WE FOUND A CLUE! WE FOUND A CLUE!” MATTHEW rushed into the parlor and flung himself joyously into Alicia’s arms.

“Well, we think it’s a clue,” David temporized, following Matthew in.

“We had a wonderful time!” Harry’s eyes were shining as he plonked himself down on the chaise beside Alicia.

“Are there any crumpets left?”

“Of course.” Smiling, Alicia hugged Matthew, relieved as well as pleased. Five minutes of studying Tony’s lists that morning had convinced her that she, personally, had no hope of making any sense of them. Adriana, too, had had no idea, but had suggested Alicia ask Jenkins and the boys, pointing out that their frequent excursions often took them to the docks.

She’d harbored reservations over the wisdom of such a course, but Jenkins had welcomed the challenge for himself and his charges. The boys, naturally, had been thrilled to assist Tony in any way. Soothing her sisterly concern by sending Maggs with them, she’d consented to an afternoon excursion.

Releasing Matthew, she signaled Adriana, who rose and tugged the bellpull. A moment later, Maggs and Jenkins both looked in. Alicia beckoned. “Come and tell us your news, but first we need to order tea to celebrate.”

She wasn’t sure how much credence to place in her brothers’ “clue,” but they undoubtedly deserved a reward for doing as she’d asked and looking.

Matthew and Harry told her which wharves they’d visited, glibly naming various seagoing vessels and their likely destinations. Then Maggs opened the door, Jenkins carried in the tea tray, and everyone settled to hear the news. Both Matthew and Harry were busy with their crumpets, today dripping with honey; by unspoken consensus, everyone looked at David.

He asked for the list; Jenkins handed it over. David smoothed the sheet. “There are thirty-five ships listed, and for many, there’s nothing odd or unusual to report.” He glanced at Alicia. “We asked lots of stevedores, and we found at least one who could tell us about each of these ships. So we know that for nineteen of them nothing odd has happened, nothing anyone knows to tell or talk about. But.” He paused, making the most of the dramatic moment, checking to see that both his sisters had recognized its import. “We learned that the other sixteen ships were all lost—on or around those dates!”

David’s eyes gleamed as he glanced from Alicia’s face to Adriana’s; hardly surprising, they were both agog.

“Sunk?” Alicia asked. “All sixteen were sunk?”

“No!” Harry’s tone indicated she’d missed the whole point. “Taken as prizes during the war!”

“Prizes?” Puzzled, she looked to Jenkins.

He nodded. “During all wars, merchantmen are targeted by opposing navies. It’s a customary tactic to deny the country one is at war with vital supplies. Even a shortage of, for instance, cabbages, could cause internal civil unrest and pressure an enemy’s government. It’s a very old tactic indeed.”

Alicia tried to put the information into perspective. “So you’re saying that sixteen ships”—she reached for the list David held; little ‘P’s had been written in the margin be- side nearly half the names—“these sixteen ships were taken as prizes of war by…” She looked up. “By whom?”

“That we didn’t learn,” Maggs replied. “But those we asked thought it was most likely foreign privateers, or the French or Spanish navies.” He nodded to the boys. “Your brothers hit the nail on the head over who to ask—it was their idea to approach the navvies. They unload the cargoes, so they remember the ships they’ve been hired to unload that don’t come in, because then they don’t get paid.”

Alicia sat and absorbed all they’d told her while they consumed their tea and crumpets. When, finished, the boys eyed her hopefully, she smiled. “Very well. You’ve done an excellent job, and doubtless learned a great deal this afternoon, so you’re excused from lessons for the rest of the day.”

“Yayyyy!”

“Can we go and play in the park?”

She glanced out; it was still light, but night would soon start falling.

“I’ll take ’em if you like, ma’am.” Maggs rose. “Just for half an hour or so—let ’em run the fidgets out.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Maggs.” Then she looked at her brothers. “If you promise to attend Maggs, you may go.”

With a chorus of assurances, they jumped up, jostling as they raced from the room. With an understanding grin, Maggs followed.

Alicia watched him go. She owed Torrington a debt for sending him. Maggs was as careful of her brothers as she could wish.

Jenkins cleared the tea things and removed the tray; Adriana returned to her sketching. Alicia sat with the list in her hand, and wished Tony—Torrington—was there.

That evening, Alicia had elected to attend Lady Carmichael’s ball. Thus advised by Maggs, Tony saw no reason to arrive early; better to let the first rush ebb before making his way up the Carmichaels’ stairs.

He’d spent the best part of his afternoon with Mr. King, learning more about Alicia, specifically about her finances. As he’d suspected, she had had a contract with King, but to his surprise, the man hadn’t jumped at his offer to buy out said contract.

A degree of verbal fencing had ensued, until both he and King had agreed to show their hands. Once he’d made the nature of his interest clear, King had been much more accommodating; he’d agreed to burn Alicia’s contract in Tony’s presence in return for a bank draft for the appropriate amount. As King’s goal was to ensure that no one, not even he, could hold the contract over Alicia’s head, and as his only aim was to lift the financial burden from her shoulders, he’d been happy to agree.

The amount he’d paid had been another revelation. He knew how much it cost to run his various houses and to meet his mother’s milliners’ and dressmakers’ bills; how Alicia was managing on the frugal sum she’d borrowed was beyond his comprehension. Her gowns alone would cost more.

Yet King had assured him Alicia was not in debt to anyone else. Understanding what had occasioned his query, he’d added that he, too, had thought the amount far too small, but when recently he’d dined with them, he’d detected not the slightest frugality or lack.

Tony now understood that the face the Carrington household presented to the world was a facade—a superbly crafted one with no cracks. Behind the facade, however…he’d recalled the lack of servants and the simple but hearty fare Maggs had described.

Like crumpets and jam for tea.

Alicia’s payment to King, capital plus interest, would fall due in July. Her life would have changed dramatically by then, but if she recalled the debt and inquired, as both he and King fully expected she would, King had agreed to simply say that an anonymous benefactor had paid the sum. She would guess it was he; he was looking forward to her attempts to make him admit it.

Lips curving as he entered Lady Carmichael’s ballroom, Tony inwardly basked in a self-satisfied glow.

He made his bow to her ladyship, then joined the throng. The ball was in full swing, the ballroom a collage of silks and satins of every hue swirling about the black splashes of gentlemen’s evening coats. He looked around, expecting to locate Adriana’s court somewhere along the side of the room.

Instead, he saw Geoffrey Manningham, shoulders propped against the wall, his gaze, distinctly black, fixed on him.

Instincts pricking, he strolled the short distance to Geoffrey’s side. Met his scowl with a questioning frown.

“Where are they?” Geoffrey growled. “Do you know?”

Tony blinked. Satisfaction fled. He turned to survey the room, but didn’t see the crowd. “My information was that they’d be here.”

“You can take it from me they aren’t.”

The tension in Geoffrey’s voice, in his stance, had effectively communicated itself to him. Tony’s mind raced; he tried to imagine what might have happened. Could Maggs have been wrong? He looked at Geoffrey. “How did you know they’d be here?”

Geoffrey looked at him as if that was a supremely silly question. “Adriana told me, of course.”

That raised the stakes. The sisters had expected to be there, and were now seriously late.

A contained commotion by the door drew their attention. A footman was whispering urgently to the butler, proffering a note. The butler took it, straightened magisterially, then turned and surveyed the guests.

His gaze stopped on Tony.

The butler swept forward, not running, yet as fast as one such as he might go. He bowed before Tony. “My lord, this message was just delivered by one of your lordship’s footmen. I understand the matter is urgent.”

Tony lifted the folded note from the salver. “Thank you.”

Flicking it open, he rapidly scanned the contents, then glanced at the butler. “Please summon my carriage immediately.”

The butler bowed. “Of course, my lord.” He withdrew.

Tony opened the note again, held it so Geoffrey, looking over his shoulder, could read it, too.

The writing was a feminine scrawl, the hand holding the pen clearly agitated. Adriana had been too overset even to bother with any salutation.

My lord, I don’t know who else might help us and Maggs assures me this is the right thing to do. Just as we were about to set out for the Carmichaels’, officers from the Watch arrived, along with a Bow Street Runner. They’ve taken Alicia away.

The writing broke off; a blob of ink was smeared across the page. Then Adriana continued: Please help! We don’t know what to do.

She’d signed it simply Adriana.

Geoffrey swore. “What the devil’s going on?”

Tony stuffed the note into his pocket. “I’ve no idea.” He glanced at Geoffrey. “Coming?”

Geoffrey sent him a grim look. “As if you need ask.”

They went quickly down the stairs and reached the portico just as Tony’s town carriage rattled up.

Tony reached for the door, opened it, and waved Geoffrey in. “Waverton Street! As fast as you can.” With that, he followed Geoffrey, slamming the door behind him.

His coachman took him at his word. They rocketed along the streets, swinging about corners at a criminal pace. In five minutes, the coach was slowing; it lurched to a halt outside Alicia’s front door.

Tony and Geoffrey were on the pavement before the carriage stopped rocking. Maggs opened the front door to Tony’s peremptory knock.

“What’s going on?” Tony shot at him.

“Buggered if I know,” Maggs growled back. “Strangest bit of work I’ve ever seen. Nice thing it is when a lady getting ready to go to a ball is set on in her own front hall. What’s the world coming to, I ask you?”

“Indeed. Where’s Adriana—and do the boys know about this?”

“They’re all in the parlor. Couldn’t keep the boys from hearing—there was a right to-do. Mrs. Carrington gave the blighters what for, but they weren’t about to go away, nor yet let her go out and wait until later. I’m thinking she went with them just to get them out of the house, what with the boys and Miss Adriana being so upset.”

Tony’s face hardened. He led the way to the parlor. The instant he opened the door, four pairs of eyes fixed on him.

A second later, Matthew flung himself at him, arms clutching limpetlike about his waist. “You’ll get her back, won’t you?”

The words, not entirely steady, were muffled by Tony’s coat.

David and Harry were only steps behind. Harry caught Tony’s arm and simply clung, the same question in his upturned face. David, older, tugged at Tony’s sleeve. When Tony looked at him, he swallowed and met his gaze. “They’ve made some mistake. Alicia would never do anything wrong.”

Tony smiled. “Of course not.” Putting a hand on Matthew’s head, he tousled his soft hair; laying an arm around Harry’s shoulders, he hugged him, then urged the trio back into the room. “I’ll go straightaway and bring her back. But first…”

One glance at Adriana’s white face told him she was as upset as her brothers, but having to comfort the boys and contain their panic had forced her to master her own. Despite the shock, despite the way her fingers clutched and twisted, she was lucid, not hysterical.

Her eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them. “They said they were taking her to the local Watch House.”

“South of Curzon Street, it is,” Maggs put in.

Tony nodded. Urging the boys ahead of him, he made his way deeper into the room. Geoffrey followed on his heels. While Tony sat in the armchair, the boys scrambling to perch close on the padded arms, Geoffrey sat beside Adriana. He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She smiled weakly, rather wanly, at him.

“Now,” Tony commanded, “tell me exactly what happened.”

Adriana and the boys all started talking at once; he held up his hand. “Adriana first—listen carefully so you can tell me anything she forgets.”

The boys dutifully settled to listen; Adriana drew a deep breath, then, her voice only occasionally quavering, she described how, just as she and Alicia were about to leave for the ball, a heavy knock on the door had heralded the Watch, accompanied by a Bow Street Runner.

“There were two from the Watch, and the Runner. He was the one in charge. They insisted Alicia had—” She broke off, then dragged in a breath and continued, “That she had killed Ruskin. Stabbed him to death. It was ludicrous!”

“I presume she told them they were fools?”

“Not in those precise words, but of course she denied it.”

“The men wouldn’t believe her,” Matthew said.

Tony smiled at him. “Fools, as I said.”

Matthew nodded and settled back against Tony’s shoulder.

Tony looked at Adriana. She continued, “We tried to reason with them—Alicia even used your name. She told them you were investigating the matter, but they wouldn’t even wait while we sent for you. They were totally certain—absolutely—that Alicia was a…a murderess!”

Eyes huge, Adriana looked at him imploringly. “They were very rough men—they won’t hurt her, will they?”

Tony bit back a curse, exchanged a swift glance with Geoffrey, and stood. “I’ll go there now—I’ll bring her back straightaway. Geoffrey will stay and keep you company. If I’m an hour or so, don’t worry.” Resettling his sleeves, he flashed the boys a reassuring smile. “I’ll need to have a word with this Bow Street Runner, and make sure the gentlemen of the Watch don’t make such a silly mistake again.”

Five minutes later, he strode up the steps of the Watch House. Two stalwart members of the Watch were heading out on their rounds; they glanced at him—and rapidly got out of his way.

Tony’s heels struck the tiles of the foyer; glancing swiftly around, he fixed his gaze on the supervisor behind the narrow desk, who was already eyeing him with increasing unease. This Watch House was situated on the edge of Mayfair; the hapless supervisor would know Trouble when he saw it. His expression as he hurriedly got to his feet suggested he recognized it bearing down on him now.

“Can I help you, sir—m’lord?”

I believe you have something of mine.

Tony bit back the words, reined in his temper, and quite softly said, “I believe there’s been a mistake.”

The sergeant paled. “A mistake, m’lord?”

“Indeed.” Tony drew out his card case, withdrew a card and flipped it on the desk. “I’m Lord Torrington, and according to Whitehall I’m in charge of the investigation into the murder of William Ruskin, lately of the Office of Customs and Revenue. I understand two of your men in company with a Bow Street Runner visited a private residence in Waverton Street an hour ago and removed, by force, a lady—Mrs. Alicia Carrington. The taradiddle I’ve been told—no doubt you and your men can explain it—is that Mrs. Carrington is accused of having stabbed Ruskin to death.”

At no point did he raise his voice; he’d long ago learned the knack of making subordinates quake with a quiet and steely tone.

With his gaze, he pinned the supervisor, who was now holding on to his desk as if he needed its support. “I should perhaps mention that it was I who discovered Ruskin’s body. In the circumstances, I would like an explanation and I would like it now, but first, before all else, you will release Mrs. Carrington into my care.” He smiled, and the supervisor visibly quailed. “I do hope you’ve taken exceptionally good care of her.”

The man could barely draw breath. He bowed, bobbed. “Indeed, m’lord—she did mention…we’ve put the lady in the magistrate’s office.” He hurried around the desk, almost stumbling in his haste to conduct Tony thither. “I’ll just show you, then I’ll get ahold of Smiggins—he’s the Runner, m’lord. We was acting under his orders.”

“Very well.” Tony followed the bobbing supervisor.

“What’s your name?”

“Elcott, sir—m’lord, begging your pardon.” Elcott stopped outside a door, and gestured. “The lady’s in here, m’lord”

“Thank you. Please send Smiggins here immediately. I wish to attend to this business and remove Mrs. Carrington as soon as possible. This is no place for a lady.”

Elcott kept bobbing. “Indeed, m’lord. Immediately, m’lord.”

With a curt nod, Tony dismissed him. Opening the door, he walked in.

Alicia was standing by the window, dressed in all her finery for the ball. She swung around as he entered; the pinched look in her face dissolved as she recognized him. “Thank God!”

She didn’t exactly fly to him, but she crossed the room quickly, her hands rising; shutting the door, he grasped them, and pulled her into his arms.

He held her tight, his cheek against her hair. “I came as soon as I could. You needn’t worry about Adriana and the boys—they know I’m here, and Geoffrey’s with them.”

A large part of her tension dissipated; she looked up, pushing back to look into his face. “Thank you. I didn’t know what to do—and I’ve no idea what’s going on. For some reason they think I stabbed Ruskin.”

“I know.” Tony heard footsteps approaching. Reluctantly releasing her, he urged her to the chair behind the desk. “Sit down—try not to say anything. Just listen and watch.”

A hesitant tap sounded on the door.

Resuming his previous, grim expression, he took up a stance beside Alicia’s chair. “Come.”

The door opened; a heavily built man in the distinctive red coat of a Bow Street Runner looked around the edge. He saw Tony; his eyes widened. He cleared his throat. “Smiggins, m’lord. You sent for me?”

“Indeed, Smiggins. Come in.”

Smiggins looked like he’d rather do anything else, however, opening the door wider, he entered, then ponderously shut the door. He turned to face them; meeting Tony’s eyes, he stiffened to attention. “Sir?”

“I understand you saw fit to apprehend Mrs. Carrington this evening. Why?”

Smiggins swallowed. “I had orders to bring the lady in to answer questions seeing as she was said to have stabbed some gentleman called Ruskin. To death, m’lord.”

“I see. I take it Elcott informed you that I have been placed in charge of the investigation into Ruskin’s murder by Whitehall?”

Hesitantly, Smiggins nodded. “That were a surprise, m’lord. We hadn’t been told that.”

“Indeed. Who gave you your orders?”

“Supervisor at Bow Street, m’lord. Mr. Bagget.”

Tony frowned. “I assume a warrant has been issued— who was the magistrate?”

Smiggins shifted; all color fled his cheeks. “Ah—I don’t know about any warrant, m’lord.”

Gaze fixed on the hapless Runner, Tony let the silence stretch, then quietly asked, “Are you telling me you seized a lady from her own house without a warrant?”

Smiggins looked green. Spine poker stiff, he stared straight ahead. “Information came in latish, about six, m’lord. Sir Phineas Colby—the magistrate on duty—he’d already left. It was thought…well, the information was that the lady was looking to leave the country, so…”

“So someone had the bright idea to send you, along with two ruffians, to take matters into your own hands and forcibly remove the lady from her home?”

Smiggins trembled and said nothing.

Again, Tony let silence work for him, then softly asked, “Who laid the information?”

It was abundantly clear that Smiggins wished himself anywhere but there. He hesitated, but knew he had to answer. “From what I heard, m’lord, the information came anonymous-like.”

“Anonymous?” Tony let his incredulity show. “On the basis of anonymous information, you acted to remove a lady from her home?”

Smiggins shifted. “We didn’t know—”

“You didn’t think!”

The sudden roar made Alicia jump; she stared at Tony. He glanced briefly at her, but immediately turned back to the now quaking Runner. “What exactly did this anonymous information say?”

“That Mrs. Alicia Carrington presently residing in Waverton Street had stabbed Mr. Ruskin to death and was likely to do a flit any minute.”

His gaze on the Runner, Tony shook his head. “We already know that whoever stabbed Ruskin was taller than he was and had to have possessed the strength of a man, not a woman. Ruskin was nearly as tall as me—taller than Mrs. Carrington. She could not have stabbed Ruskin.”

The Runner glanced at Alicia, then quickly looked forward.

Tony continued unrelenting, his tone lethally quiet. “You, Smiggins, and your supervisor have acted completely outside the law—the law you are supposed to uphold.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“In a moment, I will be taking Mrs. Carrington from here and returning her to her home. Henceforth as far as Bow Street are concerned, she is to be considered as being under my legal protection in this matter—is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, m’lord.”

“And in recompense to Mrs. Carrington for causing her distress, and to me for disrupting my evening, you will undertake, with your supervisor’s full support, to track down the source of your ‘anonymous information.’ You will do nothing else, take part in no other duty, until you have accomplished that and made a full report to me. Do I make myself clear, Smiggins?”

“Yes, m’lord. Very clear.”

“Good.” Tony waited, then quietly said, “You may go. Report to me the instant you learn anything—Torrington House, Upper Brook Street.”

Bowing, Smiggins backed to the door. “Yes, m’lord. At once.”

The instant the door shut behind him, Tony reached for Alicia’s hand. “Come. I’ll take you home.”

She rose with alacrity, more than ready to leave; as he led her to the door, she glanced at his face, at the hard, set planes, heard again his tone as he’d dealt with the Runner.

As she walked beside him out of the Watch House, her hand tucked possessively in his arm, she absorbed the other side of him she’d just seen.

It wasn’t until the carriage moved off from the curb and she relaxed against the well-padded seat that the shock and panic hit her. Until then, she’d been thinking of her brothers, of Adriana, worrying about them; until then, she’d taken everything in, but hadn’t spared any real thought for herself.

She shivered and twitched her cloak closer, huddled into its warmth. If he hadn’t come…a chill washed through her veins.

He glanced at her, then his arm came around her; he hugged her to him, against his warmth.

“Are you truly all right?” He whispered the words against her temple.

Her teeth were threatening to chatter, so she nodded.

Even through their clothes, the solid warmth of him reached her; as the carriage rolled on, negotiating the swell of evening traffic along Piccadilly, her chill slowly faded. His strength, the decisive and effective way he’d dealt with the entire episode, the simple fact of his presence beside her, seeped into her mind, into her consciousness, and reassured.

Eventually, she drew breath, glanced at him. “Thank you. It was just…” She gestured.

“Shock.” He looked out at the passing facades. “We’ll be back in Waverton Street soon.”

Silence descended. A minute passed, then she broke it. “I didn’t stab Ruskin.” She studied his face as he looked at her, but in the dimness couldn’t read his expression. She drew a determined breath. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

Tony gave the word, simple, straightforward, uninflected, and unadorned, its moment, let it sink into her mind. Then he looked down; taking her hand, he played with her fingers. “You heard me tell the Runner, and Tante Felicité and Lady Osbaldestone before that. Physically, you couldn’t have killed Ruskin. I—we—knew that from the day after his death.”

Her fingers twined with his. He could almost hear her mind working, hear the questions forming, sense her searching for the words.

“I. We. You told me you’d been asked to investigate, but until this evening, in the Watch House, I didn’t truly comprehend what that meant, that you were investigating at the behest of Whitehall.”

He felt her gaze trace his features. Waited for the next question, wondered how she’d phrase it.

“Who are you?”

When he didn’t immediately react, she drew breath, straightened within his arm. “You’re not just a nobleman the authorities—even less the gentlemen in Whitehall— just happened to ask to look into a matter because you stumbled over a body.” Turning her head, she studied him. “Are you?”

He let a moment pass, then met her gaze. “No. That isn’t how Whitehall operates.”

She didn’t respond, but simply waited.

He looked away, rapidly sorted through his impulses. He shouldn’t expect her to accept him as her husband without knowing who he was, all he truly was. Ingrained instincts urged continued and total secrecy, yet he recalled the trouble Jack Hendon had landed himself in when he’d failed to tell Kit the whole truth. He’d thought he was protecting her; instead, he’d hurt her, nearly driven her away…

He glanced at Alicia, then reached up and rapped on the roof. His coachman opened the trap. “Drive around the park.” The gates would be locked, but the streets around the perimeter wouldn’t be crowded at this time of night.

The trap fell shut; the carriage rolled on. The flare from a passing streetlamp briefly lit the carriage’s interior. He glanced at Alicia; she met his eyes, and raised a brow. The light faded; the shadows closed in.

Fittingly, perhaps.

He leaned back, resettling his arm so she could rest more comfortably, curving his palm about her shoulder both to steady her and keep her close. He tightened his other hand about hers, locking their fingers; in the dimness he needed the contact to help gauge her reactions.

Telling her all was a risk, but a risk he had to take.

“I told your brothers I was a major in the Guards, in a cavalry regiment.” Her fingers shifted; he squeezed them gently. “I was, but after the first few months, I didn’t serve in either the Guards or the cavalry.”

She’d turned her head and was watching his face, but he couldn’t make out her expression. He drew breath and went on, “There was this gentleman named Dalziel who has an office in Whitehall—” He continued, telling her what he’d never told anyone, not Felcité, not even his mother; quietly, steadily, he told her the truth of the past thirteen years of his life.

His voice remained cool, steady, his tone dispassionate, almost as if his dark and murky past was at a great distance. The carriage rolled on; she didn’t interrupt, didn’t exclaim or ask questions. Didn’t pass judgment, but he couldn’t tell if that was because she was shocked speechless or hadn’t yet taken in enough to believe and react.

He didn’t know how she would react. A surprising number of those whose lives and privileges he and his colleagues had risked their lives repeatedly to protect held that such services as those he’d performed, predicated first to last on deceit, fell outside the bounds of all decency and branded him forever less than a gentleman.

The knowledge that some who welcomed him into their homes would respond to the truth of his life, if they ever learned of it, in such a way had never bothered him. But how she reacted…

It was tempting, oh-so-tempting, to gloss over the dark facts, to paint the details of his life in brighter colors, to lighten them. To hide and disguise their true nature. He forced himself to resist, to speak nothing more than the unvarnished truth.

To his surprise, his chest felt tight, his throat not as clear as he liked. At one point, when recounting in bleak black-and-white terms the cold facts of his existence among the seedier elements in the northern French ports, he realized he’d tensed, that he was gripping her hand too tightly; he paused and forced himself to ease his hold.

She tightened hers. Shifted on the seat, then her other hand touched the back of his, and settled, warmly clasping. “It must have been dreadful.”

Quiet acceptance, quiet empathy.

Both flowed around him like liquid gold.

His fingers curled, gripping hers again; warmth blossomed in his chest. After a moment, he went on, “But that’s all in the past. Along with most others, I got out last year.” He glanced at her, sensed the contact when she met his gaze. “However…”

She tilted her head. “When Ruskin was stabbed, and you reported the body…?”

“Indeed. Dalziel reappeared in my life.” He grimaced.

“If I’d been in his place, I’d have done the same. Whatever the business Ruskin was involved in, it’s almost certainly treasonous.”

They’d circled the park; ahead, the flickering streetlamps played over the stately mansions of Mayfair. He reached up, and instructed the coachman to head for Waverton Street. Once they were within the fashionable, well-lighted streets, he looked at her and found her watching him, not judgmentally, not even curiously, but as if she could finally see him clearly—and what she saw was something of a relief.

Her gaze shifted past him, then her lips eased and she sat back. “So that’s why Whitehall—this Dalziel person— chose you for the investigation. Because you’ve proved beyond question to be true to the country’s cause.”

No one had ever described him like that, but…he inclined his head. “It’s important that whoever is pursuing the investigation is beyond question true, because with Ruskin being within the bureacracy, it’s likely whoever he was dealing with is in some way connected either with a relevant department, or the government.”

Waverton Street was approaching; Alicia spoke quickly. Her mind was racing, thoughts tumbling. “So is your investigation supposed to be secret?”

His reply was wry. “It was.”

She glanced at him. “But now you’ve had to step in and rescue me—I am sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Yes, you should have.” His hand tightened about hers.

“Indeed, if you hadn’t, I’d have been… displeased.”

She frowned at him. “Are you sure?”

“Perfectly. Neither the Watch nor Bow Street will be falling over themselves to say anything about what occurred tonight. Unless whoever was behind this evening’s events was actually watching the Watch House, they won’t be any the wiser.”

“Whoever was behind…” She stared at him. “You mean the person who laid the information…that was deliberate? I assumed it was just a mistake….” Hearing the words brought home the unlikelihood of such a supposition. She faced forward. “Oh.”

“Indeed.” His tone had hardened.

She glanced at him as the carriage rocked to a stop; his face had hardened, too.

He shifted forward; reaching for the door latch, he met her gaze. “We need to consider how to react—how best to meet this new development.”

“She’s back!” Harry reached Alicia first, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her tightly.

“I’m all right.” She hugged him back, then opened her arms to Matthew, who clutched and wriggled until, with an effort, she lifted him into her arms. David hung back, feeling his age, yet clearly wanting reassurance; she smiled, freed a hand, and drew him to her for a quick kiss. “Truly,” she whispered, then let him go.

His somber expression eased; turning, he led the way to the chaise.

Having followed Alicia into the parlor, Tony pressed a hand to her back, worried about Matthew’s weight. She flashed him a smile, then glanced down at Harry’s head.

Transferring his hand to Harry’s shoulder, he gripped lightly. “Come on—let’s get her to sit down.”

Harry glanced at him, then released Alicia; tucking his hand in Tony’s, he went with him to the armchair and perched on the arm. Still carrying Matthew, Alicia walked more slowly to the chaise. Matthew slid down and she sat, then he crawled into her lap.

Beside her, Adriana laid a hand on her arm. “It must have been awful—you must have been so afraid.”

Alicia smiled reassuringly. “I wasn’t there long enough to get into a state.” She glanced at Tony, then looked down at Matthew, snuggling close. She ruffled his hair. “Sweetheart, it’s long past your bedtime.”

He looked up at her, for a minute said nothing, then, smothering a yawn, mumbled, “Have you told Tony about the ships?”

She looked at Tony. Everyone looked at him.

He stared back. “What about the ships?”

Three pairs of eyes focused in brotherly admonition on Alicia. She waved in exculpation. “There’s been so much happening”—she exchanged a glance with Tony, the memory of their drive around the park and all it had revealed high in her mind—“I haven’t had a chance. But now you can tell him yourselves.”

They did, in a chorus of statements and explanations that left him dazed. “Prizes? Sixteen of them? You’re sure?”

Tony studied the list Alicia had fetched from her escritoire. The boys had gathered about him, David leaning over his shoulder, Matthew and Harry balancing one on each chair arm. Scanning the list and the inscribed “P”s, he listened as they explained how they’d gleaned their information.

All the ships were still registered, therefore presumably still afloat, as they would be if they’d been taken as prizes and subsequently ransomed by their owners.

Alicia sank back on the chaise. “Jenkins can tell you more if need be. And Maggs—he went, too.”

He glanced at her, then looked around at the boys, meeting their eyes. “This is excellent.” He didn’t have to fabricate his enthusiasm, the sincerity of his thanks. “You’ve shown us which direction to pursue. Thank you.” Solemnly, he shook each boy’s hand.

They grinned, and continued pelting him with information about the ships. One part of his mind listened, cataloging useful details; most of his mind was racing, assessing, formulating.

When the boys’ observations slowed, then stopped, Alicia rose, clearly intending to gather them and send them upstairs. He stayed her with an upraised hand. “One moment.”

One glance at Geoffrey’s face, and Adriana’s, assured him neither would let him leave without a comprehensive explanation of what was going on; they were merely biding their time. His professional habits urged secrecy—information shared only with those who needed to know— yet this time other instincts, deeper instincts, were increasingly suggesting that sharing knowledge was a wiser, infinitely safer way to proceed.

His gaze came to rest on Alicia’s brothers, on the three tousled, silky brown heads, currently bent close as they again examined the list of ships.

If he were on the “other side” in this affair…

They’d already targeted Alicia, not once, but twice. They knew where she lived. Anyone watching the house and her would quickly realize what her strongest instinct was—and therein lay her greatest weakness. It would be remarkably easy to engineer, and her reaction would be one hundred percent predictable…

Raising his gaze to her face, he waved her to sit. Puzzled, she sank down on the edge of the chaise. He glanced at Geoffrey and Adriana, then looked back at her. “This household—Adriana and Geoffrey, and the boys, too, and Jenkins, Maggs, and any other servants you have—all need to know the basic elements of what’s going on.”

Concern filled her eyes. She frowned. Before she could voice any protest, he glanced at her brothers; all three had come alert at his words and were now looking expectantly at him.

He smiled slightly, then raised his gaze and met Alicia’s eyes. “It’s the best way to protect everyone. They all need to know.”

Geoffrey and Adriana were quick to voice their agreement.

Alicia glanced at them, then looked again at the boys. A moment passed, then she lifted her gaze to meet his, and nodded. “Yes. You’re right. The basic facts so they understand why they need to take care.”

He inclined his head. “If you’ll summon the others?”

She rose. He watched her, inwardly acknowledging his ulterior—ultimately his primary—motive: keeping her safe. Keeping her brothers safe was part of that, but it was she who stood in the line of fire. Conscripting her household in her defense was clearly in everyone’s best interests; each of them needed her in their own way.

Within a few minutes, the entire household had assembled. He hadn’t previously met the cook and their old nursemaid, Fitchett; both women bobbed deferentially, then retreated to sit on the straight-backed chairs Maggs and Jenkins fetched for them. Maggs had warned him of the small number of staff, so that came as no surprise; given what he now knew of the family’s finances, the fact even made sense.

When everyone had settled, the boys seated in a semicircle before his chair, despite the hour alert and eager to hear of his investigation, he told them, simply and concisely, all they needed to know.