Sophia shook her head. “I don’t understand it, Tristan. Do you think they’re really foolish enough to target Francis Thelwall? He doesn’t enjoy the same obscurity asPatrick Dunn.”
Francis Thelwall was one of the founding members of the London Corresponding Society. He was clever, charismatic, and an outspoken critic of William Pitt’s Parliament. All of London knew who he was. If he was suddenly arrested for thievery, uncomfortable questions would arise.
“Patrick Dunn may have been an experiment to see if the scheme would work,” Tristan said. “Not many people in London would connect Dunn to the LCS. They likely targeted him to see if they could get away with it, and now they have, they’re going after Thelwall.”
Sophia nodded slowly. “It would be convenient for Mr. Pitt if Francis Thelwall was shipped off to an Australian penal colony, particularly now the LCS has connected with otherreform groups.”
“Yes. They likely think it’s worth the risk.”
The LCS had members in Norwich, Manchester, Sheffield—even Scotland, and they were growing more powerful by the day. “A theft charge would be a tidy way to get rid of Thelwall.”
“It would be even tidier if he were hung.” Tristan’s tone was grim. “Six thousand members of the public signed the LCS’s latest petition, and it was presented to Parliament in May. When did the rash of thefts begin at St. Clement Dane’s?”
Sophia’s head was spinning as all the disparate puzzle pieces began to fall together. “Jeremy was accused in June, and Patrick Dunn a month or so before that. What of Jeremy, though? He’s not a member of the LCS. What do Sharpe and Everly gain byaccusing him?”
“Yes, I thought of that, too. Sharpe must have made a mistake. He likely saw Jeremy approaching St. Clement Dane’s, and not being the cleverest criminal, mistook him for someone else, and sprung his trap only to find he’d gotthe wrong man.”
“Yes, of course.” Sophia drummed her fingers against the table, thinking. “Sharpe got the wrong man, and if that weren’t enough to end the scheme, Henry Gerrard caught them out at it. He knew to go to St. Clement Dane’s on the first Tuesday of the month, and he caught Sharpe attempting to frame Jeremy for theft.”
Tristan fell back against his chair. “Jeremy told us the fourth man was there that night. He must have leapt from the shadows when he realized Henry had uncovered the scheme, and stabbed him. Who better to blame for his murder than Jeremy? He was already there, and likely too confused to put up much resistance.”
“We still don’t know who the fourth man is. It can’t be Everly.” Sophia had seen Everly and the fourth man together herself, in Everly’s carriage this morning. “Everly might maneuver it from behind the scenes, but he wouldn’t soil his hands with something so gruesome as a murder, which means…” Sophia met Tristan’s gaze over the scrubbed tabletop, and her voice trailed off. “Tristan? You look strange. Are you ill?”
* * * *
Tristan gazed across the table at Sophia, into the lovely green eyes he’d fallen into the first time he’d seen them—the eyes he was still drowning in today—and his stomach lurched with fear.
If Everly had had his way, it wouldn’t have been asingle murder.
It wouldhave been two.
“Tristan? Are you unwell?”
Tristan opened his mouth to answer her, but no words came out. The fourth man had murdered Henry Gerrard, and only two nights ago he’d tried tomurder Sophia.
Tried, and nearly succeeded.
If Tristan hadn’t spotted Sophia on Everly’s pediment roof that night, the villain would have spilled her blood all over Pollen Street. Panic rose in Tristan’s throat when he thought of how near a thing it had been.
If he’d come upon them even a few seconds later, he would have lost her. Now, sitting across from her, looking into her eyes, he knew without a shadow of a doubt if the worst had happened, he never would have recovered from the loss of her.
I’m inlove with her.
This wild, reckless lady, so small and dainty yet so fierce, this dark-haired pixie, half-angel and half-thief, with her devastating green eyes and her troubling tendency to climb onto roofs and slip through fences. Stubborn, clever, brave—perhaps just a bit broken. She wasn’t at all the sort of lady he imagined he’d ever fall in love with, yet she was all he could think about, all he could see.
He stared at her, dumbfounded. Did she love him back? Did she even trust him? If not, would she ever? The questions spun inside his head, but no sooner did they arise than he tossed them aside again, unanswered.
It didn’t matter. He was in love with her, and there was no going back from that. She might walk away from him and never look back, and it wouldn’t make any difference. He’d go on loving her against reason, sanity, or logic. He’d go on loving her even after he’dlost all hope.
She reached across the table and grasped his hand, her green eyes troubled. “Tristan? Are you all right? You’re scaring me.”
Tristan forced a smile to his lips. “Just reminding myself you’re here with me, and you’re safe and well. Well, aside from scraped palms and knees.”
Her eyes went soft as they moved over his face. “Only because of you. I had no right to expect you to follow me that night, but you did.”
It was on the tip of Tristan’s tongue to tell her he’d follow her everywhere, anywhere for the rest of his life if she’d let him, but this wasn’t the time to declare himself. He wouldn’t speak to her of love with the same breath as he spoke toher of murder.
“Henry’s mistake was in thinking Sharpe and Everly were working alone.” Tristan’s lips twisted with sadness as he thought of his friend. “He hadn’t counted on there being a fourth man there that night, lurking in the shadows.”
