James pressed forward, his voice level. He asked. “Why come forward now?”
Smite exhaled sharply, his hands shaking.
“My own life is in danger,” he said. “I overheard Charles—telling his steward to arrange an accident. For me.”
Gabriel’s expression darkened. The man had only come forward to save his own skin, not to do the right thing by Genevieve. But he said nothing. Selfish information was better than none at all. Gabriel listened until the man finished speaking. He walked away from the servant without a word, glancing silently at James. At last, they had the means to bring them down.
John Smite’s sworn testimony was recorded meticulously by the magistrate, every damning detail had been transcribed before dawn. Gabriel stood rigidly beside the fireplace, absorbing the final words with cold precision, his thoughts slicing through exhaustion and emotional turmoil with ruthless clarity. Time was critical.
Charles and Richard could not be allowed a single moment to react. There would be no warnings, no desperate attempts at escape. The plan had to be executed with the same precision as a well-timed military maneuver.
“We move immediately,” he said.
James nodded, already composing urgent dispatches to trusted London authorities.
“Both men must be apprehended simultaneously,” he said.
“If one receives word of the other’s arrest, we risk losing one of them.”
Gabriel exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.
“We must strike decisively and quickly,” he said.
Despite James’s valid concerns for his safety Gabriel was resolute. These were the people who had hurt his beloved Genevieve. He would not stop until they all paid the price.
“I will lead the confrontation,” he said.
James glanced at him, assessing the unwavering resolve in his gaze.
“You are certain?” he said.
Gabriel did not hesitate.
“I must face the man who hurt the woman I love,” he said.
James held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded. Preparations were made swiftly, their arrival at Charles’s townhouse carefully orchestrated. Gabriel and James rode at the head of the procession, flanked by the magistrate, several constables, and a visible contingent of armed estate men. It was an overwhelming show of force that precluded any thought of resistance.
Upon entry, Charles was found seated in his breakfast room, his expression shifting from irritation to amused arrogance as Gabriel entered.
“What is this?” he asked. "A dramatic spectacle, nothing more,”
James uttered not a single word.
Gabriel’s silence was measured, deliberate.
The magistrate stepped forward
“Charles Ravencroft,” the magistrate said. “You stand accused of conspiracy to commit murder, fraud, and incitement to violence.”
Charles scoffed, his lips curling in disbelief.
“This is absurd,” he said.
Gabriel remained motionless, his voice dangerously soft as he spoke.
“We have testimony,” he said. “There is a sworn eyewitness account, from one of your own servants.”
The blood drained from Charles’s face.
