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Proudlake picked up the column, his eyes moving from top to bottom, then he looked at Adam. “You and I both hold shares in two of his ventures.”

“The textile concern and the Northumberland railway scheme. I have three additional investors who will follow whatever position I take. Yours and mine together represent a significant enough withdrawal that it will unsettle his credit arrangements with two of his principal lenders.”

“That alone doesn’t ruin him,” Daniel said. Now he leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees. “He has liquidity in other concerns. He’ll bleed, but he’ll manage it.”

“He’ll have to manage it without Blackwood,” Adam said.

Proudlake went still, the name setting off in the room like a rogue gun, and neither of them broke the silence that followed.

“You found him,” Proudlake said finally, and Adam smiled.

“I’ve had him six weeks. He was willing to wait for the correct occasion.”

Proudlake set the paper down slowly. “Lawrence Blackwood.” He said it to himself. “He was Penhurst’s man of business in the Dorset concern for three years. He knows exactly how those books are kept, and what has been kept out of them.”

Adam nodded. “Exactly. And he is prepared to go before a solicitor tomorrow morning.” Adam kept his voice level. “Blackwood’s disclosure will document misrepresentation in the Dorset concern and in the coastal shipping venture; contracts backdated, investors quoted returns that were never realistic, losses concealed across the correspondence. Penhurst’s position looks sound only because no one has put it all in one place. Blackwood puts it in one place.”

“The moment that document exists,” Proudlake said, “and the right men know it exists⁠—”

“Every creditor who has extended him paper has cause to look more closely at their arrangement,” Adam said. “And men who look more closely at Penhurst’s arrangements do not like what they find.”

“And once his creditors move,” Daniel said, “it unravels fast.” He looked at Adam. “You want me at White’s.”

“The morning after Blackwood signs. We need not call it a rumor…just a disclosed fact, from an identified source, in the hands of three men who hold significant paper on him. Once it reaches three, it reaches the rest of his creditors by noon.”

Daniel looked at the ceiling, his expression serious. “So by Thursday evening, his capital is contracting. By Friday morning, his credit is in question. By Friday noon, the clubs know why.” He glanced at Adam. “And at some point between noon and Proudlake’s answer, the viscount realizes he has larger problems than a marquess.”

“He chose the wrong man’s wife to punish,” Adam said.

Proudlake was quiet. He looked at the fire, then at the papers on his desk, then at Adam. He extended his hand, and Adam took it.

“Timeline?” Proudlake said.

“Blackwood goes to the solicitor at nine tomorrow. You and I send our withdrawals by the afternoon post, separately, with no indication they are coordinated. Daniel visits White’s on Thursday morning.” He released Proudlake’s hand. “By the time Friday arrives, Penhurst will have far more immediate concerns than a marquess’ answer.”

“Beautifully cold,” Daniel said, in the tone of a man who meant it as the highest praise available.

Proudlake walked them to the study door himself. The entrance hall was lit only by the single wall sconce burning at half; the house settled into the quiet of a well-run household long past midnight. Their coats waited on the hall chair. Adam was shrugging his on when light footsteps came from the staircase to the left.

Valerie Slater reached the bottom step and stopped.

She wore her house clothes, dark hair loose, a book at her side with her thumb marking the page. She looked like a woman who hadn't been asleep and had waited long enough for the house to grow quiet before coming down. Her eyes went to her father first, then to Adam, then to Daniel.

Out of the corner of his eye, Adam noticed how Daniel stood a fraction straighter, but the adjustment was small enough that Proudlake likely did not register it.

“Your Grace,” Valerie said. She had recovered herself quickly. Her gaze moved to Daniel. “Lord Honeysett.”

“Miss Slater,” Adam said.

She looked at the three of them in the entrance hall at ten minutes past midnight—coats on, her father’s expression carrying the unmistakable mark of a man who has not prepared a story. “Is everything all right?” she said.

“Oh, my dear, everything is perfectly fine,” Proudlake said.

“We are simply here on business,” Adam said. “Your father and I share several investments. There were matters that needed addressing before tomorrow.”

Valerie did not seem to believe those words. “Business,” she echoed.

“The worst kind,” Daniel said pleasantly, his lips already curving in that hellion manner it usually did. “Tedious beyond description. It’s all shipping figures, wool quotas, and a great deal of arithmetic. Nothing you would wish to hear the details of, I assure you…and we are deeply sorry for the inconvenience to the household.”