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“Lavinia, I think I know how Douglas has diversified,” said Gillie. “He’s making weapons.”

“And what better way to earn more money from arms than if there’s a war?”

“An attack on the Prince of Wales, even if it’s not successful, would spark an immediate military reaction,” said Gillie.

It had all been in front of her, but there was still one question she needed answered.

“What does Mrs. Wark want out of all of this?” Lavinia asked.

“I don’t know, but I’d bet ten guineas she and Douglas are using each other to further their own causes,” said Gillie.

“We have to tell Andrew,” said Lavinia, rounding the counter and making it halfway to the door before the words were out of her mouth.

“He was going to the Duke of Livingston’s house before the ball.”

Gillie’s words froze her midstep. “What?”

“He wanted to try to appeal to the prince to convince him not to attend tonight,” said the young woman.

In one swift moment, all of her hurt was replaced by sheer terror. Andrew was walking into danger and utterly unaware. She had no doubt that he was an excellent fighter, but outnumbered, even the most capable of soldiers surely didn’t stand a chance.

“We have to warn him,” said Lavinia.

“It’s too dangerous,” said Anika.

“It might also be too late,” said Gillie, chewing her lip.

“No.” She refused to accept that as a possibility. If Andrew had shown her one thing, it was that it was never too late.

Lavinia pulled her cloak off the back of her study door where she’d last left it and tossed it over her shoulders, pinning it into place with her large silver brooch. “I’m going to the duke’s home. Anika, would you please lock up the shop? Are you coming with me or not, Gillie?”

“Dammit,” Gillie swore before calling out, “I left the cab waiting outside.”

“Thank you, Gillie,” said Lavinia, unashamed at her relief that she wouldn’t be charging into danger alone. “And just think how brutally you can tease Andrew when a couple of women wearing bustle pads save his life.”

“Oh, I intend to for the rest of his days.”

Chapter Twenty

ANDREW HAD FACED down enemy agents, hurricanes, the doldrums, and even a few stray cannonballs, but he’d never done battle with a duke’s butler before, and it was quickly becoming clear that this was a battle he wasn’t going to win.

“Neither the prince nor his grace is seeing anyone tonight,” said the butler.

“You don’t understand, this is a matter of utmost importance,” said Andrew, reiterating the same argument he’d been using (unsuccessfully) for the past five minutes. “I must speak to His Royal Highness before the ball.”

“Will you be in attendance yourself, sir?” the butler asked, looking down his sharp nose at Andrew.

“Yes.”

“Then you may speak to His Royal Highness there,” said the butler in a tone that made it very clear that the man thought the likelihood of that happening was very low indeed. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”

The butler began to withdraw, but Andrew slapped his hand on the door. “You don’t understand.”

“You do not understand, sir,” said the butler, looking at Andrew’s hand with horror. “You are attempting to harass a member of the royal family.”

“I’m trying to keep him alive!”

“If you do not remove you hand from this door at once, I shall be forced to call the constabulary,” said the butler.