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“Sir.” Papa nodded curtly. Mariah could see his temper was back under control.

Lord Camden entered the room slowly, his every movement deliberate. He was tall and gaunt, dressed all in black like a specter from a children’s tale, and had not the slightest expression on his hard-hewn face. He nodded back to her father, but his cold dark eyes flashed about the room until they landed, and rested, on Harry. There was nothing in his gaze, though, and after a moment he turned to her father.

“Doncaster. Lady Doncaster.” Camden drew off his gloves and bowed slightly to Mariah’s mother. Behind his back, Mariah noticed another, nondescript man slip silently into the room. The footman, Jameson, closed the door and stood with his back to it. “My apologies for arriving at this inconvenient moment.”

“Not at all, Camden.” Papa’s eyes flicked past Camden, taking in the other man. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Mariah took advantage of his distraction to ease closer to Harry’s side. He hadn’t made a sound since Jameson opened the door. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. He didn’t look at her. She slipped her hand into his, and his fingers closed around hers. “It will all come out well,” she added softly. “I know it will.” Although she didn’t.

The viscount must have heard her whispering, for he turned in her direction, slowly, ominously. That cold, flat glare landed on her for a moment, and she stood a little straighter and put up her chin. If it fell to her to defend Harry against both her father and Lord Camden, she would.

“My daughter, Mariah,” Papa said in a wintry tone. She curtsied on instinct. “Mariah, would you excuse us?” he added with a significant look.

Lord Camden gave her a faint nod. “Lady Mariah.” Again he turned back to Harry, as if he were a curiosity the viscount couldn’t take his eyes off of. For a moment there was silence as Camden stared at Harry and Harry stared back. “Let her stay,” said Camden thoughtfully. “I suspect she will be relevant.”

Relevant! As if she ordinarily weren’t! Mariah blinked, then looked at her father, whose eyes narrowed. He drew breath to speak, but Camden went on before he could. “You have the look of your mother about you,” he said to Harry. “Is she well?”

Harry’s grip on her hand tightened for a second, then eased and slid away. “Yes.”

The viscount made a noise in the back of his throat. “Does she know where you are?”

Harry hesitated, then shook his head once.

“Good.” Camden turned back to Papa. “What is your complaint against him?”

Papa drew himself up. “It is a private matter, sir, one I shall deal with myself.”

Camden harrumphed. “He tangled with your daughter, didn’t he? Looked far above his station and dared to approach a young lady whose handkerchief he wasn’t fit to hold.” Beside her, Harry stiffened but said nothing. “I am not surprised,” Camden went on, slewing a sour glance at him. “I should have expected as much, perhaps.”

“That is not true!” Mariah burst out. “I begged him to come to see me! I sought him out every chance I could! How dare you say he’s not fit to hold my handkerchief, you⁠—”

“Is the harm irreparable?” Camden asked her father, whose face was mottled red with temper again. Now both looked ready to send Harry to the hangman.

She hated being talked about as if she weren’t there. “Yes, it is!” she said before her father could respond, unconsciously stepping in front of Harry as if to shield him. “I am irreparably in love with him! I will never marry anyone else—I shall never receive another gentleman, and if you force me to marry someone else, I shall leave him! I shall live the most scandalous life London has ever seen!” She cast about wildly for anything else she could use to frighten her father with. “And I will never see or speak to you or Mama, ever again!”

“Mariah,” her father said, his face now white—with fury or with hurt, she didn’t know. “You will retire to your room. You are overwrought.”

“No! Not until you swear to me you won’t do anything to him.” She folded her arms in defiance. A hand on her shoulder startled her.

“I think I can speak for myself,” Harry said with a faint, wry smile. “Not quite so eloquently, perhaps, but you’d better let me have a go.”

“Oh.” Flustered, she retreated to his side. Her allegiance was unchanged. If her father wanted her to leave the room now, he would have to drag her out himself.

Harry looked over Mariah’s shoulder. John Stafford gazed at him with opaque eyes, not making the slightest effort to control the situation, for better or for worse.

He took a deep breath and turned back to Doncaster. “I have never done a moment’s harm to Lady Mariah.”

“She thinks otherwise,” said Camden, who looked almost fiendishly pleased Harry was speaking for himself.

Mariah rounded on him. “I never said that! He never did anything to hurt me⁠—”

“Not all harm is violence, young lady,” Camden snapped. His eyes ran over Harry again. “But let him speak: what has he done?”

Harry looked past Camden, at Stafford. “I have done my job.”

“She was never part of that.”

“No?” Harry raised his eyebrows. “And yet she was in the coach when the radicals lit a powder keg beneath it.”