Victor inclined his head from across the street, but there was no gallantry in it—only calculation. Possession.
Elowen turned back at once, quickening her pace beside Catherine toward their carriage.
Inside, Catherine chatted cheerfully of ribbons and bonnets, but Elowen’s thoughts had already drifted. She could still feel the memory of Lucas’s kiss—its warmth set now against the cold, assessing stare of Victor Cherrington.
One had been genuine connection. The other, calculated pursuit.
And never had the contrast been clearer.
***
Lucas paced before his desk, the surface strewn with papers—shipping manifests marked in William’s hand, columns of figures with irregularities circled, and his father’s recovered notes. The evidence grew daily, yet still lacked that one irrefutable piece.
Frederick’s latest report lay atop the rest. Ambrose was unravelling. Loud quarrels with creditors, drink taken where no gentleman of standing would be seen, whispered accusations ofpowerful enemies—his decline was swift and public.
Lucas pressed his fingers to his brow.He is going to ruin himself—and perhaps ruin us again in the process.
The door opened without ceremony. Henry entered.
“You look as though you’ve fought a battle and lost,” he said mildly, closing the door behind him.
Lucas gestured toward the chaos on his desk. “I sometimes think I fight shadows. Each scrap brings me closer, yet none bind tightly enough to stand in court.”
Henry advanced, resting a hand on the back of a chair but not yet sitting. “Your solicitor’s report?”
“Yes.” Lucas tossed it across the desk. “Ambrose has made himself a spectacle in half the taverns of Mayfair. If he speaks so freely, it is only a matter of time before he says something that reaches the wrong ears. His ruin may come sooner than planned.”
Henry scanned the report swiftly, his brow furrowing. “This speaks of desperation.”
“Or fear.”
They let that hang between them a moment. At last, Henry lowered the page. “Then he must be watched all the more closely.”
Lucas resumed pacing. “I have asked Frederick to keep him under watch by whatever means he can. But each day, Ambrose sinks lower. He may destroy himself before we can draw what we need from him.”
Henry finally seated himself in one of the armchairs. “You have always preferred careful construction of cases. But sometimes—”
“No,” Lucas cut him off. “If we move without certainty, men like Lord Orvilleton will twist it to their advantage. Lord Trenton’s disgrace taught me that.”
The name fell heavily between them. Silence followed, punctuated only by the fire’s low crackle.
At last, Henry leaned forward, folding his hands. “Tell me, then. What weighs more heavily—Ambrose’s decline, or something else?”
Lucas halted mid-stride. “What do you mean?”
Henry’s gaze was steady, perceptive. “I have known you too long, Lucas. This restlessness is not merely about papers and accounts. Something else troubles you.”
Lucas turned away, staring into the flames.Elowen.Her name pulsed in his mind like a heartbeat. But he could not speak of that now. Henry saw too much already.
Instead, he said quietly, “Do you think Lord Cherrington has made inquiries about William?”
Henry’s brows rose. “Why do you ask?”
“Because Frederick believes so. A few discreet questions to the wrong people—too curious by half.”
Henry considered. “And you believe it tied to his attentions toward Elowen.”
The name struck too near. Lucas’s jaw tightened. “Perhaps.”
