“What is it?” Luke asked.
“The man who’s been following Lady Catherine.”
Luke’s heart slammed against his ribs and everything else suddenly seemed unimportant.
“Where is he?”
Jim jerked his head to the side. “Jack’s office.”
Luke hurried out of the room. “How did you find him?”
“Lady Catherine was running around like an insane woman this morning, taking care of the things for the ball she was hosting tonight.” Jim stepped into the room and pointed at a battered man with dark hair sitting in a chair, working the brim of his hat. “Mr. Evans here could barely keep up with her.”
Jack’s burly footman had obviously been keeping guard. He nodded once and discreetly left the room, closing the door behind him.
“He’s been ever so cooperative since he spent a few hours in gaol,” Jim explained.
“Abuse of power is wot it was. Locking me up when I ain’t done nuffin’ wrong.”
Luke sat on the edge of Jack’s desk, studying the man. “Do you know who I am?”
“Claybourne,” the man fairly spit.
“Do you know that I’ve killed a man?”
“So have I. It’s not that hard to do.”
“My point, dear fellow, is that I’m fond of Lady Catherine and I don’t like that blackguards such as yourself are following her.”
“I never ’urt ’er.”
“That’s the only reason you’re still breathing. I want answers and if I don’t get them, I won’t be nearly as gentle as Scotland Yard. Have I made myself clear?”
Evans swallowed, nodded. He was a bully, and bullies were easy to put in their place.
“Why did you follow her?” Luke asked.
“I was paid to.”
“By whom?”
“Fancy gent.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know his name. He hired a bunch of us.”
“Hired a bunch of you to do what?”
He lifted his shoulders in the way a man would to avoid a blow. “Follow people around.”
“Come on, mate,” Jim said, his voice riffed with authority. “Tell his lordship everything without him having to ask all the questions.”
“What people exactly were you following?” Luke asked.
“The Lady Catherine, loike ’e said,”—he pointed to Jim—“a duchess, and you.”
“Which duchess were you following?”
