‘You are not the Charlotte she spoke of so often?’ His expression cleared suddenly with understanding as she nodded shyly.
An incredulous smile spread across his face. ‘Such a small world. I am honoured to make your acquaintance.’ He bowed, looking faintly astonished.
‘So you have been pretending to be depraved all this time...’ She still could not quite believe it.
He inclined his head. ‘A necessary performance. After I received your letter, I saw an opportunity to infiltrate them. Deception, after all, is an art of war—and you may be certain I am waging war against these despicable men.’ He gave a quiet huff of disdain. ‘Wolverton believes me to be reckless, indulgent, and morally indifferent. It has required... dedication.’
‘If you have known about their involvement all this time, why did you not clear my name? Why did you name me as the prime suspect?’ Charlotte could not entirely keep the resentment from her tone.
‘I needed to find you and see for myself. I trust no one.’ A faint smile tugged at his mouth. ‘But I see now I made a mistake. You do seem to possess a remarkable talent for getting yourself into sticky situations. Had I known you were Grace Skye’s Charlotte...’
Charlotte suppressed a sigh of exasperation.
‘And the gambling?’ she demanded.
Pinching the bridge of his nose as though already wearied by her scepticism, he added, ‘Miss Walker, I take my faith seriously. I do not drink or gamble. Nor do I keep mistresses.’
‘I displayed my wealth to entice them.’ He paused, then added with quiet precision, ‘I am skilled at cards. I merely allow myself to lose from time to time, so as to appear reckless.’
‘And cutting off Mr Wilberforce’s funds?’
‘That too was for show. I arranged it with Wilberforce when we went riding together. Wolverton was meant to overhear our disagreement and carry it back to his associates—another means of gaining their trust.’
‘Did you succeed?’ she asked, unable to conceal her intrigue. Despite herself, she felt impressed.
‘Not entirely,’ he admitted. ‘But they are close. They believe I wish to collaborate.’
‘But is Mr Wilberforce not in danger now? Why would they not simply arrange for his demise?’
‘I think not. To kill Wilberforce would only make him a martyr and draw greater attention to his cause. They would sooner discredit him or render him powerless. But as a precaution, I have already arranged for him to leave the house party. He is to go into hiding until this matter is resolved.’
‘But what of Mrs Wilberforce and Tom? Are they not in danger?’
‘They are under watch. They have been since the beginning. They are safe.’
‘Oh.’
Charlotte fell silent.
The pieces, once scattered and incoherent, now aligned with quiet clarity. The recklessness, the vice, the calculated cruelty—it had all been an act.
Charlotte looked at him properly then: tall, imposing, and utterly unlike the man she had believed him to be only moments before.
Lord Stanley was, it seemed, an honourable man, after all.
He leaned against the mantel, his expression sharpening once more.
‘Now, if you have quite finished with your interrogation,’ he said, frowning slightly, ‘perhaps you would care to explain, Miss Walker, what you were doing skulking about the guest bedchambers at this hour of night?’
His tone hardened.
‘Do you realise the danger you placed yourself in? Had I not arrived when I did—’
‘I was growing desperate,’ she admitted. ‘I was searching for clues. Lord Boulton is one of them, by the by.’
She explained the ring and the rose emblem.
‘Impressive, Miss Walker. It seems I have greatly underestimated you.’
