Hadley whistled. “That is quite the claim.”
“Careful, Sacci. I do not like allegations being made against my sister,” Kendall said, low and threatening. “Such idle words threaten her reputation as a lady.”
Allie’s eyes rolled ceiling-ward at her brother’s sentiment, eliciting the first genuine smile Ethan had given since she admitted she loved him.
Hisladrawould never care too much what others thought of her. And she certainly didn’t require her brother’s protection.
“Hear, hear,” Hadley agreed. “Ye make a dangerous accusation, Mr. Sacci.”
Fabrizio snorted. “I make no accusation. It is the truth. I was there.”
“Pardon?” Hadley’s head reared back.
“I was there that day,” Fabrizio repeated, “as a colleague of Lady Allegra.”
“So . . . ye be a highwayman, too?” Hadley asked.
The question was said mildly enough, but even Fabrizio heard the steel in Hadley’s voice.
“Why was this miscreant even permitted to enter your house, Hadley?” Kendall interrupted.
“Lady Isolde’s invite. Bit of a rabble-rouser, my daughter,” Hadley replied, far too cheerfully. “A trait inherited from her mother.”
“It seems ill-advised to indulge Lady Isolde so. She has rather poor discernment in gentlemen.” Kendall motioned a hand toward Fabrizio. “As we can see.”
“I’d be careful how ye speak of my eldest daughter, Kendall.” Hadley’s bonhomie vanished, expression darkening. “Lady Isolde and her siblings are the light of my life, and I won’t have anyone, even a lofty English duke, speaking ill of them. As ye said, idle words can be damaging.”
Kendall managed to hold Hadley’s stern glower for a few seconds before looking away.
“I have proof of my claims,” Fabrizio said into the silence.
“What proof?” Kendall retorted. “What could possibly prove you were there?”
“I have Mr. Penn-Leith’s revolver.”
Shock straightened Ethan’s spine. “My revolver?”
“Sì,with your name clearly engraved on it.”
“Ye could have gotten the revolver from the true thieves,” Ethan countered. “That proves nothing.”
“Ah, yes.” Fabrizio held up a finger. “But I also have this.” With a flourish, he produced a rigid copper daguerreotype from his coat pocket and handed it to Hadley.
Glancing at the photograph, Hadley raised his eyebrows.
“And do not think to mangle the plate or destroy the image with fire,” Fabrizio warned. “The photographer took multiple frames, so I have two more such photographs in my possession.”
Hadley passed the copper plate to Ethan.
The edges of the metal felt cool against Ethan’s palm. The image showed Fabrizio in the center of a group, a piece of parchment in his hand withLa Giovine Italiawritten on it. Allie stood to his right, a hand on his shoulder, stalwart and brazen. Four other men were positioned around them.
Ah, hisladra. She appeared so resolute in the photograph—stern-faced, staring directly into the camera. So determined to do her part. To belong.
Absently, Ethan rubbed his sternum, attempting to assuage the ache there.
Kendall crossed to peer over Ethan’s shoulder.
With a sniff, His Grace plucked the photo from Ethan’s grasp, took four steps to the fireplace, and promptly tossed the daguerreotype on the fire smoldering in the grate. The heat instantly warped the metal backing, obliterating the image.
