“If he does contact you, my lady, you must let us know,” Ambrose said. “Blackmail only begets more blackmail. The only surefire way to stop the Spectre is to capture him.”
“I will do whatever is necessary to keep my secret.” Menace infused her words.
Gabriel turned to Mr. McLeod. “Have you anything to report on the other suspects?”
“Aye.” The Scot gulped down his tea before continuing. “Our ongoing reconnaissance corroborates that Heath’s a loaded cannon. His opium habit doesn’t help his stability. Our man Cooper infiltrated a meeting of rabble-rousers that Heath attends regularly. The topic of gunpowder came up.”
“The same weapon used in the attack on Tremont,” Ambrose said grimly.
“Aye. But according to Cooper, there’s no proof that the radicals have actually gotten their hands on any explosives. Mostly they just drink too much and run off at the gob.” McLeod popped a ham and watercress triangle into his mouth, chewing vigorously.
“Should we pay Heath a visit and question him?” Ambrose said.
“No,” Lady Blackwood said.
“Why not?” Thea asked.
“Tiberius is high-strung and spooks easily. If he scents danger, he’s going to run like a fox and then we’ll never find him.” She shook her head. “I say you wait. Continue to follow him. The minute you have solid proof of anything, you close in.”
“Tremont?” Ambrose said.
Gabriel gave a curt nod. “She’s right. We’ll have to keep monitoring him.”
“That leaves Cicero—Lord Davenport.” Ambrose sighed. “Now he’s a different breed altogether. We’ve tailed him for days, and his worse offense was a half-day visit to Bond Street while Parliament was in session. He’s either innocent or the most careful blighter alive.”
“If his speeches in the House of Lords are any indication, he is indeed a master of evasion,” Strathaven said wryly.
“So a head-on approach won’t work with him either, will it?” Thea said.
“He’d talk circles around us if we tried to interrogate him,” Gabriel said. “We’ll have to find another way to get proof.”
“As it happens, I have a plan.”
All eyes turned to Lady Blackwood.
“His wife holds a monthly luncheon for the charity she heads,” the marchioness went on. “The next one takes place tomorrow. I will attend and use the opportunity to search Davenport’s private domain.”
“But won’t Lord Davenport be suspicious if you show up?” Thea asked.
“I’ve done reconnaissance. Ladies who’ve attended the luncheon in the past say that he is never present. The Davenports are a fashionable couple and do not live in each other’s pockets.”
“It would be difficult for you to conduct a thorough search on your own. I’ll go with you,” Emma offered.
“Me too,” Thea said.
“The hell you will,” Gabriel and Strathaven growled in unison.
Emma sighed. “Now, darling, we’ve been through this before—”
“This is different. This is a murderer we’re talking about,” the duke said. “If you think I’m going to permit you to march alone into the lion’s den—”
“Emma won’t be alone. I’ll be there,” Thea said, “and Lady Blackwood too. We’ll have power in numbers.”
“Out of the question,” Gabriel grated out. “This plan is far too dangerous.”
“Not really. Lady Davenport’s luncheon is in the middle of the day, and Davenport won’t even be at home,” Thea said in reasonable tones. “We’ll be with a houseful of society ladies—what could possibly happen to us with all those witnesses? On the off chance that a servant finds me in Davenport’s study, I’ll just say I got lost.”
“I always say that I was looking for the retiring room,” Em put in. “In my experience, that prevents further questioning by footmen.”
