Another rap on the door, and MacLeod cracked it open. “My lord, the magistrates have come.”
“Post a guard at the windows and door and tell the magistrates to wait in the ballroom. I will speak to them directly.” Lucien turned to the Nolans. “We will give you this hour. Be wise.”
“I swear it.” Nolan nodded and looked up at him. “Thank you.”
Lucien was almost to the door when he heard Nolan speak.
“Lord Everdene.”
“Yes?”
“I will tell you who paid me.”
The information electrified Lucien, a lightning strike of murderous rage, but he kept his voice level. “Do you have any proof?”
“He’s the one who gave me the lady’s tin soldier. It was at the Swan and Thistle. Roger, the barkeep, saw it, along with the barmaid, his daughter. She heard enough to ask me about it after. There was also a hack driver at the next table getting bubble an’ squeak.”
“Was there anything else you overheard? Anything that might help bring the bastard to justice?”
“Overheard ’m mention one other toff when they were arguing. I never saw ’m or heard a name.”
“Is there anything more?”
“No.”
“If you think of something…”
“I will send word.”
Lucien feathered his fingers over Scrap’s curls, then smiled at Sibby Rose and touched her cheek. With one last look at the family, he walked over to Grace and took her hand, leading her away.
The minute he was able, he drew her into a room, gathered her into his arms. “I almost lost you. You and the baby.”
“You didn’t. You never will.”
“So…now we know.”
Grace nodded. “I feared there must be some connection to the Pinchbecks, as soon as I realized the kegs held gunpowder. And the night of the riot at Drury Lane…Alice invited me, then made her own excuses.”
A haunted aura shadowed Grace’s face. “Do you think Alice knew?”
“I don’t know, but Iwillfind out. I intend to go to Pinchbeck’s soiree and return the barrels he sent.”
No footmanin England would dare to refuse entry to Viscount Everdene and his brother, and tonight was no exception. Oh, they gawked at the Harcourts’ sudden appearance and the strangeness of a keg balanced on Captain Harcourt’s strong shoulder. One startled fellow attempted toannounce them, but Lucien and Simon merely stalked into the Pinchbeck ballroom like an invading army.
The chamber was filled with guests of the highest importance. Men from the House of Lords rubbed shoulders with wealthy industrialists and their wives, along with a glittering array of Torys. But it was members from the Home Office that held Lucien’s gaze. The perfect witnesses…
The music being played trailed off, the violin’s strings screeching. Everyone in the room spun around to regard the new arrivals with blatant curiosity. Lucien gave a hard smile at his reflection in the mirror, the ever-impeccably turned out Viscount, looked as if he had been through a war. His evening blacks were mud-spattered, his cravat wilted and askew. His hair tumbled across his forehead and he’d torn off his gloves at some point. Mouths gaped open, hands pressed to breasts. But no one looked more gratifyingly stunned than Lord and Lady Pinchbeck and Neville Freyne.
“Lord Everdene?” Pinchbeck’s jowls quivered as he left off speaking to the Home Secretary. “What is the meaning of this?”
“A bit of a shock to see me, Pinchbeck?” Lucien boomed in the voice that could hold all of parliament captive. “You are staring as if I’ve come back from the dead.”
“Of course I am surprised. I understood that you were having an event of your own tonight. Is there some news from the continent? Some disaster you bring tidings of?”
“Were you expecting one?”
“See here. Whatever you have to say, spit it out.”
