“We leave,” Dash said, voice turning into steel. “Now. I will take you to Lionston. Your mother thinks you are there already, and you will be safe there.”
As he guided Vivy toward the corridor his breathing finally started to steady. A grim certainty settled into him with finality as he helped her into his carriage. He would kill anyone who harmed Vivy. She was his life, and Mr. Halford had just nearly taken her from him. For that alone the man would pay. But first he had to see her settled in at Lionston House. Then he would go hunting.
Ten
The Lion Watch was located in an innocuous warehouse no one would give a second glance. It hid behind respectable brick and unremarkable signage, tucked into a narrow street where merchants conducted dull business and gentlemen pretended never to notice anything beyond their own affairs. Dash entered by the side door, gave the proper knock and was admitted without ceremony.
Inside, the air smelled of ink, wax, and rain-soaked wool. Maps lined the walls in neat rows. Ledgers lay open awaiting their owners. At a glance one might mistake it for an office where bored clerks tallied trade, and they would be dead wrong.
Lionston was already there, standing over a table scattered with dispatches. Leander Ashby, Duke of Lionston, wore the controlled impatience of a man who carried half the kingdom’s burden and was irritated by the other half. Slothington lounged in a chair nearby, a glass of brandy in hand, looking like he had been summoned against his will and had decided to punish everyone for the slight.
“Ravenwood,” Lionston said the moment Dash stepped in. “What is it? You look…”
Dash shut the door behind him and did not give the duke a chance to finish his sentence before he uttered, “Vivy was almost killed.”
“That is the most alarming sentence you have uttered all week.” Slothington’s gaze slid lazily over him. “Who tried to end the poor lady?”
Dash crossed to the table, hands clasped behind his back to keep them still. “Halford, Avonridge’s secretary, held a knife to her throat,” he said.
Lionston stilled. “Avonridge’s secretary did that?”
“Yes.”
Slothington sat a touch straighter. “Tell me that you took care of him.”
“He was in Vivy’s bedchamber,” Dash cut in, keeping his voice even because if he permitted himself anger, he might not stop at words. “He said it was too late for her and that she knew too much. He admitted sending her this note as a warning.” Dash’s jaw tightened as he set the missive on the desk. “I disarmed him. He fled before I could detain him.”
Lionston swore under his breath. “How is Lavinia?”
“A cut on her throat,” Dash replied. “Nothing that will scar.” His gaze hardened. “But he was close enough. Too damned close.”
Slothington’s mouth tightened. “So, he is desperate.”
“He is,” Dash agreed. “I took Vivy to Lionston to stay with your wife. She’s not safe at home.”
“Good. Only a fool would dare go into my home.” Lionston met Dash’s gaze and said, “You said he fled. Where?”
“He was quite fast once he started running.” Dash’s tone went cold. “I chose to get Vivy out rather than chase him through a duke’s household in broad daylight.”
Lionston nodded once, approving and grim. “Good. Now tell me what else you have.”
Dash reached into his coat and withdrew the list and set it on the table as if laying down a weapon. Lionston’s gaze dropped to it and then narrowed. He picked up the list and scanned it quickly. The Duke’s expression tightened by degrees.
Slothington leaned forward. “Well?”
Lionston did not answer at once. His eyes moved over names and marks—missing, discharged, removed, compromised—and with every line his frown deepened. “This is…” Lionston’s voice turned quiet and dangerous. “This is not merely a list of men. This is a ledger of our reach.”
“It was in Avonridge’s possession,” Dash said, his blood chilling at the implications.
Lionston snapped his gaze up. “Yes.” He tapped the page. “And not just our current names. There are names here we never formally asked to join yet—men we intended to recruit once they returned. Names that should not exist on paper at all.”
Slothington’s tone went drier. “So, someone has been keeping records who has no business doing so.”
Lionston’s eyes narrowed. “Or someone has been fed records. Or has taken them.” He flipped the page. “Do you see this?”
Dash leaned in. Several names were marked missing. His stomach tightened. Missing did not mean absent from London. Missing meant unaccounted for.
Lionston’s jaw clenched. “We will not ignore this.”
