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“You’ve changed, Your Grace,” Alden noted, his voice devoid of warmth. “The man I met months ago would not have sat in that chair and said that.”

“The man you met months ago was still pretending he had time. I am done playing. Consider my cards laid out.” Nathaniel rose, drew a folded paper from his coat, and set it on the desk between them. “My solicitor’s terms. Read them at your leisure. I’d like them signed by Thursday.”

They were signed by Wednesday.

Three Days Later

The Marchmont ball was the sort of crush where four hundred people occupied rooms built comfortably for two hundred.

Nathaniel had never in his life been more grateful for a crowd and enjoyed being just another person swept up in the scent of perfume and champagne and excitement.

“You’re certain?” Laura asked as they moved through the receiving line.

She wore dark green tonight, and she looked entirely magnificent and entirely calm, which was the more remarkable of the two.

“I’m certain.”

“And you remember the signal?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I remember the signal, Laura. I’ve had it recited to me four times on the ride over.”

“I’ll recite it a fifth if you give me cause.” Her hand tightened briefly on his arm, and he understood what was underneath the teasing. “Nathaniel, if he says something about her⁠—”

“I know.”

“You cannot swing at him,” she stressed, squeezing his arm. “Not this time. Everything depends on you standing perfectly still while he destroys himself.”

“I know,” he repeated. “I’ve had a great deal of practice at standing still. This is the first time it will actually be worth something.”

“On we go,” she said, and they walked.

Nathaniel found Cumberlea near the card room an hour later, holding court among a small cluster of admirers.

It would take remarkably little to draw him away. A quiet word. A mention of the Bristol contracts. The suggestion that they might speak somewhere less public, delivered with just enough reluctance to be convincing.

“A word,” he said, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Ah, Your Grace. Come for another jab?”

He merely walked away and waited in the smaller parlor off the east corridor. It was empty and dimly lit, the door at the far corner standing open exactly as he had planned.

“Well?” Cumberlea’s jaw bore a faint yellowing bruise, and he wore it like a grievance, rubbing it as he stood before him. “I confess I’m surprised you’ve found the courage to seek me out, Your Grace, after your performance at the Fairweather ball. What is it you think we have to discuss?”

“Ownership,” Nathaniel said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“As of Wednesday afternoon, every venture you hold jointly with Lord Alden belongs to me.” Nathaniel watched the words land, his heart swelling with pride. “The Bristol shipping contracts, the Kent parcel, the three companies you’ve been quietly moving capital through since spring—I bought them all. You may confirm it with your solicitor, though I’d not trouble him tonight. He’ll only tell you what I’ve just told you, and you needn’t waste any coin.”

The color drained from Cumberlea’s face in stages, the realization hitting him in waves, until finally he spoke.

“You can’t.” He loosened his cravat frantically. “Those arrangements were… Alden had no authority to…”

“Alden had every authority. You gave it to him yourself in writing four years ago, when you wanted your name kept off the paperwork.” Nathaniel’s tone did not change at all. “It was a sensible precaution at the time. It has proved less sensible ever since.”

“What do you want?” Cumberlea curled his hands into fists at his sides. “Name it. Money? Name your price. Every man has one, Duskwell, and I am not so ruined that I can’t meet yours.”

“I want you to leave England,” Nathaniel said. “Permanently. You’ll take what’s left to you, which is considerably more than you deserve and yet considerably less than you’re accustomed to. But you will go, and you will not return in my lifetime or my niece’s. That is the whole of it. There is no negotiation attached. Your absence is all I require.”