She rose and slowly turned to face him . . .
And Wrexford’s heart leapt into his throat.
“What’s happened?” he rasped.
“I—I am not sure, milord,” she replied. “P-Perhaps nothing—”
“You’re not making any sense.” Wrexford fought to keep his voice calm.
“As you know, m’lady and Lady Peake attended a soiree for potential investors at Taviot’s townhouse this evening. However, they have not yet returned.”
Wrexford felt his heart skip a beat.
“Tyler and Raven have gone to reconnoiter around Taviot’s house, Hawk has run to see whether they have gone to Lady Peake’s home, and Peregrine . . .” She lowered her voice and glanced at the door to the adjoining room. “Peregrine and Lady Peake’s young relative, Midshipman Horatio Porter, are waiting in your library. It seems that Horatio was able to identify the scrap of cloth that you tore from the man who attacked you in Taviot’s secret laboratory.”
Feeling a little dizzy, Wrexford pressed his fingertips to his temples, hoping to stop his head from spinning. “Are you saying that he knows the name of the man?”
McClellan hurried to pour a glass of whisky from the decanter on the sideboard and made the earl take it before answering. “Yes.”
He took a long swallow, its liquid fire finally burning through the haze of his initial shock.
As he stared into the whisky, Wrexford suddenly recalled von Münch’s remark about it being hard to believe thattwoBritish traitors had been active during the Peninsular War.
But what if it were true?
He had assumed that Taviot was the evil mind behind the treachery. But a pair of villains working together would be the answer to a great many baffling questions.
As to Pierson’s assertion that the government believed that Taviot was merely a pawn, Wrexford was inclined to disagree. After all, Pierson had made a point of Taviot’s intelligence and cleverness, which meant he wasn’t a man easily duped.
Setting aside his half-empty glass, the earl drew in a measured breath. “Mac, please summon Peregrine and Midshipman Porter.”
The maid rushed to fetch the boys from the adjoining library.
“Sir!” exclaimed Peregrine. “Is there—”
“There is no news yet, lad. But never fear, we will soon have m’lady and Aunt Alison home.” Wrexford made himself sound confident. He refused to consider an alternative. Turning his gaze on Peregrine’s companion, he gave a friendly nod. “You must be Midshipman Porter.”
“Y-Yes, milord.” Horatio snapped to attention and gave a salute.
“At ease, Horatio.” He gave the boy an encouraging smile. “I understand that you’ve identified the man to whom the torn fabric belongs.”
“Yes, milord,” repeated Horatio. “You see, I know who owns the coat, and I spotted the damage this morning.”
He hesitated, then said a name.
* * *
The villain is trying to help me?Charlotte wondered whether she was now hallucinating. His words made no sense.
Still, she ceased her struggling. “W-Why?”
No answer, though his grip on her wrists relaxed ever so slightly.
Squinting through the gloom, she tried to make out any identifying features. But he was no fool. Only his eyes showed above the length of black linen wound snugly around his face, which also served to muffle his voice.
Those eyes. Charlotte was sure that she had seen them before.
Her captor—or savior—kept darting frequent looks out the carriage window. Charlotte decided to obey his orders for the moment, using the interlude to marshal her strength. She knew that she would never be able to muster the effort for more than one escape attempt, so she decided to be patient and wait for the right moment.
