“Possibly,” James said. “Or a lesser employee. A footman. A maid. Someone who knows the house’s habits.”
Eleanor’s mind raced. She pictured the corridors. The nightly checks. The way the household moved like a machine.
Someone had allowed a masked man into her bedchamber.
She felt sick.
James continued, quieter now. “And there is another concern.”
Eleanor’s gaze snapped to him. “What?”
His eyes held hers steadily. “I have seen Lady Whitcombe with your father.”
Eleanor went still. “With my father?”
Arabella’s head lifted sharply. “When?”
“At the ball,” James said. “I saw them speaking. I did not understand the significance then. I do now.”
Eleanor’s pulse pounded. “Is he in danger?”
James’s jaw tightened. “Possibly.”
Arabella’s eyes narrowed. “My father is many things, but he is not foolish.”
James’s voice remained calm. “He is proud. That makes him predictable.”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened. She did not want to admit it, but James was right. Norman Barker would never believe himself vulnerable. He would believe he could manage any situation with money, threats, or charm.
“Then what do we do?” Eleanor asked.
James exhaled slowly. “We set a trap.”
Arabella blinked. “A trap.”
“Yes,” James replied. “Lady Whitcombe believes she can reach into my household. That she can frighten us into retreat. She believes she holds the upper hand because she has already struck.”
Eleanor’s hands curled in the sheets. “She will strike again.”
James nodded. “Which means we can anticipate her.”
Eleanor’s throat tightened. “And the spy?”
James’s gaze sharpened. “We expose them by forcing a choice.”
Arabella frowned. “How?”
James’s voice dropped. “By giving the staff information that is not true, and watching which thread is pulled.”
Eleanor stared at him. “You want to lie to our own household.”
“I want to identify the person who lied to us first,” James replied.
Arabella’s expression darkened. “I hate that this makes sense.”
Eleanor swallowed. “What is the plan?”
James held her gaze. “You will need to play a part.”
