“He’s proud. Reputation is everything to him. He’s been trying to join Parliament for years. A scandal—especially one involving fraud or theft—would be his undoing.”
“Then we’ll whisper just loud enough,” he murmured, but his eyes sparkled. “I’ll speak to someone at the Harrington Club. Someone with loose lips and sharp ears. I’ll claim an associate of mine purchased a ledger box from Fairfax Hall, and that records were inside. Norton will hear of it within hours.”
“And when he comes sniffing?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
A long silence stretched between them. Then Isobel moved to his side and touched his arm. “And what about me?”
“You,” he said, “will lie low. I don’t even want you going to the cemetery, only because I’m certain Norton doesn’t believe in ghosts.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’ve been hiding long enough.”
“I’m not asking you to hide,” he said gently. “But if this goes wrong—”
“I won’t be your weakness, Elias.”
“You’re not,” he said. “You’re the reason I’m doing this at all.”
That silenced her. Her heartbeat continued to accelerate.
He looked at her then, eyes softening. “You don’t have to decide tonight. You can rest. You’ve earned it.”
She gave a weary nod and crossed to the window. The fog outside was even thicker now, pressing against the panes like a living thing. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled midnight.
Tomorrow, the real war would begin. But tonight… she was not alone.
And for the first time in years, the ghosts weren’t winning.
Chapter Five
Chesterwell Hall wasablaze with golden light and artifice. Candles flickered in every sconce and chandelier, throwing their warmth against walls papered in deep-crimson damask. A quartet played from a raised alcove draped in velvet, the mournful strains of a waltz weaving through the air like a whispered secret. Women in jewel-toned silks drifted like petals through the glittering throng, laughter ringing from behind fans, while men in ivory gloves boasted of stocks, politics, and their latest hunt—none of them prepared for the one already underway.
Elias Blackwood moved through the crowd like a shadow cut from iron. He didn’t belong in these rooms. Not anymore. The medals at his breast had tarnished in foreign soil, and his shoulders carried too many ghosts. But he walked with a soldier’s calm, boots silent over polished floors, eyes trained on one man.
Lord Alistair Norton.
The devil himself stood flanked by sycophants near the marble hearth, draped in impeccably cut black fabric, his bearing that of a man who believed the world owed him applause simply for existing. His sapphire cravat pin caught the firelight like a blade. He held court with a judge and two members of Parliament, glass of cognac in hand, spinning a tale ofsome railway proposal in the north that would “transform the movement of coal and civilization alike.”
Elias waited. He sipped from a glass he didn’t want, nodded to women he didn’t recognize, and tracked Norton’s every step with the precision of a marksman.
At last, Norton laughed too loudly, his voice cutting through the music, and Elias stepped forward. “Lord Norton.”
The man turned, the beginnings of a gracious smile forming before recognition struck like lightning. The smile wavered, froze, then returned with brittle poise.
“Captain Blackwood,” he said smoothly. “What a… surprise.”
“Indeed, the pleasure is mine,” Elias said. “I had no idea you were entertaining tonight.”
“I always entertain. The question is whom.” Norton’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is this a social call… or business?”
Elias smiled thinly. “That depends on how you define business. I’ve taken an interest in family legacies lately. Particularly those of the late Viscount Fairfax.”
During the pause, Elias watched the man’s expression, as the Fairfax name was like a stone being tossed into still waters. The men nearby grew quieter, though they tried to pretend they hadn’t heard.
Norton raised an eyebrow. “Strange hobby for a soldier.”
“You’d be surprised what war teaches a man to value. Bloodlines. Honor. Truth.”
