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They stumbled into the sea of red ball gowns and cravats, of rubies and diamonds, covered in dust and blood.

It wasn’t quite as dramatic an entrance as Sybil and the others, but it did the trick.

Guests moved out of the way before Bram even had a chance to snap out an order, or shove a dandy into the punch bowl. The marquis was surrounded by four enraged women, inside a circle of curious guests, and his footmen, armed to the teeth. Devil’s men closed in.

Clara held up the papers, slightly crumpled. “I have the evidence.”

“Letters from Miss Yarwood’s solicitors in Wales,” Sybil said. “Accusations supported by Lady Rosalinde’s village in Ireland, including two vicars and a bishop. Lady Heloise’s estate manager and the marquis’s own solicitor offer proof. He selected women with large inheritances who lived too far away to have any nearby ties, any recourses. And then he convinced or threatened their families until he was granted guardianship. After which he locked his new wards in the caves underneath the house.”

“Don’t be absurd!” The marquis laughed, but Clara fancied she could hear a frisson of trepidation to it. He liked to laugh when he was cornered. As a woman who liked to lecture on the most mind-numbingly dull points of decorum when she was cornered, Clara was not fooled.

“As well as very careful lists of these women and others, with their fortunes and family members,” Clara added. “Which he hid inside the walls. Five more women who should be searched for.”

“You did this to us,” Blanche said. “To all of us.”

“You’re still unwell,” the marquis added with a shake of his head, gently concerned. “That fever. And Heloise was sent to the seaside.” A sharp glance at his footmen, the ones who would not know a champagne coupe from a pudding bowl. “I left her in the capable hands of a chaperone. We’ve all been deceived, clearly. Poor darlings.”

“Miss Taunton was not the one who locked me in the caves beneath the house,” Heloise said firmly.

“Nor I,” added Blanche.

“Nor I.” This from Rosalinde in surprisingly ringing tones. “You murdered my grandfather, didn’t you?”

The crowd was turning—even the marquis could sense it. They were riveted, suspicious.

The marquis’s gaze, full of hatred and rage, fell on Clara and her letters. “I’ll kill you, you little bitch.”

Bram stepped in front of her, seething and raw with the kind of power the marquis could only dream of. “Fucking try it.”

There was no pretending he was not able and willing to rip a man to pieces, lord or not. A flutter of warmth went through Clara. Perhaps she ought to be appalled.

She most definitely was not.

But nor was she going to let Bram be deported or hanged for attacking a marquis.

It could too easily spiral out of control. People would be hurt, maybe killed. The story would become focused on Devil’s Night, on the violence, and not the accusations. Not the consequences. The marquis would get away. It wouldn’t be about Heloise, Blanche, or Rosalinde. Or the other women. Their justice would fall to the wayside.

No.

“One moment, if you please,” Clara cut in, in her best, sharpest governess tones.

It was the command of a spinster who lived in a cottage by the sea and spent her days painting watercolors of cows and crocheting doilies. Who knew the lineage of every passing peer in the village. Who read Four Diocese Sermons for fun and wore prim, boring dresses. Who gave out copies of The Manners and Morals of the Virtuous Woman every Christmas.

And it was so distinctly out of place that everyone paused.

Even the marquis turned his head slowly to blink at her blearily.

And then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted, rather like a spinster shocked by the brazen behavior of the younger set.

Even Devil’s men were nonplussed, frozen with their weapons still raised.

“It’s the laudanum,” Clara explained. “It can take some time to take effect, I’m afraid—if you are accustomed to a higher dose.” She grinned back at Bram, who was smiling at her even though he still stood as though he was ready to run people through. “I had to guess.”

“Pirate,” he said softly, fondly. He glanced up at Devil. “You know he was going to renege. He’s already up to his ass in debts. He hasn’t got half of what he lost here tonight.”

“Obviously,” Devil replied.

“Can you send your men for a magistrate? I assume you have one available for…complications.”