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Wesley’s face twisted with fury. “Of course not!”

“But you know who did?”

Hesitation. Then, a stiff, sullen nod.

“Was it someone in this household?”

Wesley scowled, clearly offended by the question. “Why would a servant wish the baron dead?”

Brendan pressed on. “Then someone outside the household paid you to remain silent?”

Another reluctant nod.

“Then why are you still here?”

“I was promised more coin if I could find a letter the baron had written. They needed someone within the house to search for it.”

Brendan inclined his head, heart pounding as he tried to devise a plan. “I will pay you double.”

“I am not a fool!” Wesley snapped. “My only chance now is to flee … and take the baroness with me. That way, you won’t risk apprehending me.”

Brendan shook his head, lowering his voice to a coaxing tone, though it cost him dearly to speak so evenly. The mere thought of Lily being taken away twisted something sharp and primal in his chest. He wanted to roar, to tear down the walls. Instead, he reasoned.

“If you take her, we will pursue you without rest or mercy. Perhaps …” He swallowed, wincing at the idea even as he voiced it. “Perhaps I could pay you what I have now, and you could … tie us up. To make your escape.”

It was a wretched suggestion. If they gave up their freedom, Wesley could do anything he pleased. And if the man was lying, if he was not desperate but deranged, then Lily might be in even greater danger.

His wife must have had the same fears. Though she stood captive and terrified, Lily shifted slightly, trembling against Wesley’s hold. Her eyes—those vast, brown eyes—met his with a spark of fierce clarity.

“No!” she choked out, her voice barely more than breath, yet unflinchingly firm. “You will not risk your safety for me. Do you hear, Brendan Ridley? If he must take me, then you must allow it … so long as you remain unharmed!”

Wesley glanced down at her, clearly startled by the sudden burst of resolve from the fragile form he held. But Brendan was not surprised.

Of course she would say such a thing.

That was who Lily was. Brave. Selfless. Infuriatingly noble.

But he could no more let Wesley leave with her than he could stop breathing.

If something happened to Lily, if she were lost to him because of his misjudgment, then Wesley need not strike a blow. Brendan would already be destroyed.

“Take me instead!”

“No!” Lily cried out at once.

Wesley scowled. “Are you jesting? I should take a grown man rather than this small girl as my hostage?”

Grudgingly, Brendan conceded the point. The reprobate had the upper hand … for now. He prayed Michaels might summon a Bow Street Runner or some other aid, because he was fast running out of options. All he could do was keep the footman talking. Keep him thinking. Because desperate men made rash choices, and Lily’s life was a thread stretched to snapping.

“I will give you everything I have in the house,” Brendan said, voice tight with desperation. “You may lock us in any room you please. But I beg you … do not harm the baroness.”

As if conjured by thought, the concealed door behind Wesley inched open. A shadowed figure slipped into view—Michaels. The butler’s eyes scanned the room, and Brendan’s mind whirled.

What was he planning?

Michaels was older, smaller, and certainly not a soldier. But still, he moved with the quiet purpose of someone unshaken by fear. Brendan knew he must not look toward him—any shift in attention could alert Wesley even as every impulse in him screamed at him to stop the butler.

He focused instead on Wesley’s face, speaking to keep him distracted.