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Stafford’s stare could have chipped stone. “This is not your concern.”

“That’s what Phipps said.” Harry clicked his tongue. “I beg to disagree. Men are hanged for less than you’ve asked me to do.”

The other man’s mouth flattened. “Are you offering your resignation?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “Not... necessarily.” Stafford snorted, and Harry leaned forward. “Tell me why,” he demanded in a soft voice. “Why are we spying on Crane and the others? This isn’t a guardian assignment. Tell me the truth.”

For a long moment it seemed Stafford wouldn’t reply. His jaw tensed and relaxed several times, as if he were swallowing his words, before he finally exhaled in disdain. “These are dangerous times, Sinclair. I expected you would know that. After all, one presumes you wished to do your patriotic duty when you came into my employ. One wouldn’t want to question the motive of a man who agrees to housebreaking, impersonation, lying, stealing, and any number of other activities some might judge criminal.”

“No, nor would one want to question the motive of the man who charges others with those same tasks and then rewards their success in them,” Harry shot back.

Stafford dismissed this with a slight twist of his mouth. “Indeed.” He studied Harry with piercing eyes. “I hired you in part for your intelligence, so I suppose I ought not to be surprised at this.”

Harry waited.

Stafford’s lips pinched. “From time to time,” he said, speaking each word as if he wished he needn’t, “it is necessary to engage in anticipatory action. Naturally one would prefer not, particularly when considerable delicacy is required, but when the dangers outweigh the reservations, one must act. It would be dereliction of my duty not to do so. I placed you and my other agents with the utmost care, trusting in your ability to act with discretion and wisdom in the pursuance of your tasks. I trust you will continue to do so.”

For a moment he and Harry just gazed at each other, before Harry leaned forward. “So, which one do you suspect is the traitor?”

Stafford simply looked at him, coldly and silently.

Harry took that for confirmation. “All right,” he said quietly. “I understand.”

“I expect you to continue following orders—” Stafford began.

Harry lifted one hand. “I will. But from this moment on, I follow my own instinct as well.”

Stafford shot him a cutting glance. “Whatever is required.”

Harry inclined his head, partly to hide his surprise. Stafford didn’t care what he did, just as long as he caught the traitor. He hadn’t quite expected that. “Then we understand each other. At last.” He got to his feet and crossed the room.

“How did you get into my house?” Stafford asked behind him.

Harry glanced back from the doorway. “All too easily.”

Stafford glared at him, clutching the blankets to his chest. “Do not do it again.”

Harry just flashed a tight-lipped smirk and slipped through the door.

Back out in the street, he took a deep breath. That could have gone very badly for him, but it hadn’t. Stafford hadn’t sacked him or promised retribution; instead he implicitly confirmed Harry’s suspicions and gave him carte blanche to catch the villain. That meant Stafford was desperate to find the man.

He thought of the reward promised him for safeguarding a few wealthy gents. How much more would it be for discovering a traitor in the upper reaches of society, almost within the cabinet itself? The government—even the new king himself—should be very grateful indeed.

Harry strode through the dark streets, every nerve tingling. It was an awful risk as well. If he made a mistake, Stafford would gut him and spit him without hesitation. Harry would take the entire blame—not an inconsiderable drawback, as the penalty for falsely accusing a nobleman was death. And if he were correct, no one would ever hear his name associated with the matter.

But one of the possible traitors was Mariah’s father. Harry didn’t want to consider the possibility that Doncaster could be the guilty party—for tonight. He didn’t want to confront that thought, or the choices it would demand, unless he was absolutely forced to do so. It seemed unlikely Mariah’s regard for him would withstand the sight of him giving evidence against her father, ruining her family and disgracing her forever.

He couldn’t think about that now.

By the time he arrived back at Fenton Lane, he had decided on a beginning. It was easiest to spy on Crane. Crane’s diary and correspondence went through his hands every day, and he’d been watching the old man for weeks now. Whatever actions had caught Stafford’s attention had to have happened some time ago, so he would have to go through as many of the viscount’s papers as he could. As long as he didn’t get sent off on too many pointless errands or dragged out of the house by any more of Tobias’s larks, it should take only a few days, weeks at the most.

Tobias. Harry stripped off his clothing and scrubbed his face and neck, thinking of Crane’s nephew. He didn’t think Tobias was clever enough to plot to overthrow a cricket pitch, let alone a government, but Tobias was a young man with lofty ambitions and no fortune of his own. It would be fairly easy for him to give information gleaned in his uncle’s house to a radical group, possibly even without realizing what he was doing. The more Harry thought about him, the more plausible Tobias became. And searching Tobias’s belongings for any tell-tale signs of treachery would be easy enough to do, since Tobias had resided with his uncle since he came to town.

Harry fell into bed, exhaustion finally overwhelming him. Bethwell would prove difficult, since he had no entrée into the marquis’s house and only followed him sporadically. He would have to think on that. But as he drifted off to sleep, it was the earl he thought of.

Please God, don’t let it be Doncaster.

Chapter Nineteen