Page 69

Lord Devin gave a brisk knock and then strode into the chamber. Livie remained outside and out of sight, listening through the open door as her father issued a cheerful greeting.

“I have brought news of a significant development,” Lord Devin said, “news that, I am happy to say, is likely to exonerate you.”

“I am unsurprised,” Livie’s father replied, confidence resounding in his deep voice. “I suppose you caught the miscreant who took advantage of my name and seal?”

“I believe we have,” Lord Devin said. “With your permission, I shall ask our chief investigator to join us.”

“Certainly,” the captain said.

Livie took this as the signal to join her father and Lord Devin. The two men were standing in the center of the room; both of them turned as she entered. Her hands were wound together so tightly that she had to force them apart in order to drop into a respectful curtsy. “Good morning, Father,” she murmured, bowing her head.

She straightened to see her father scowling. “If you’ll forgive me, Lord Devin,” he said with icy precision, “I previously explained my reluctance to have my daughter placed in invidious proximity to a bed.”

“Your daughter has discovered that your letters to her had been used to plan treason,” Lord Devin said, his voice just as cold. “Wouldn’t you like to hear how it happened?”

“My letters to her?” The captain drew himself up and turned to Livie, his face turning dull purple. “What did you do to my letters, you fool girl?”

Livie swallowed hard. “I did nothing to them, Father, other than discover that your letters had been modified to communicate a plot to meet with revolutionaries on the French shore under cover of darkness.”

“Modified?” He snorted. “What are you talking about?”

“The letters were adulterated, marked in a way that translated to a coded message,” Lord Devin explained.

The captain gaped. “Impossible.”

“It may be that these communications were added by the man who transcribed your letters,” Lord Devin continued.

Captain Sir Tyron snorted. “Do I understand that you think that Mr. Cassio, my devoted, nay, my beloved right hand, used my correspondence to plan treason?” A rough bark of laughter erupted from his throat. “I can only suppose that the idiotic chit who calls herself my daughter has influenced you in this preposterous idea, likely because she thinks herself too good to marry Mr. Cassio.”

Livie didn’t know Lord Devin terribly well, but even so, she could read his expression. Lord Devin didn’t approve of the way her father was shouting at her. The captain’s eyes were screwed to the size of currants. Angry currants.

Was it possible for a raisin to be angry?

Once again she felt as if her lungs couldn’t expand enough to gulp air. “Mr. Cassio is a suspect,” she said haltingly. “But perhaps you can point to another who had access to your letters?”

“If we do not find a culprit, the Lord High Steward will come to an obvious conclusion,” Lord Devin remarked.

Her father’s eyes bulged. “Do you dare?”

“The letters are yours, so Lord Paget will conclude that the coded messages are yours as well,” his lordship replied without flinching.

For her part, Livie felt ill with anxiety. Had her father no understanding of the danger in which he stood?

“I shall inspect these supposed markings myself,” her father snarled. He cast Lord Devin a withering look, wheeled about, and walked to the chairs before the fire.

Lord Devin took Livie’s elbow. “Steady,” he whispered, drawing her over to the hearth.

Once they were seated, the captain turned to Livie with a ferocious scowl. “Am I to understand that you shared our private communications with his lordship?”

The scorn in his eyes was familiar; she had again stepped over the invisible line demarcating ladylike behavior. “Only after I discovered that someone had employed your letters for treasonous means,” she offered in her defense.

“For which you, Captain Sir Tyron, are currently imprisoned and at risk of execution,” Lord Devin remarked. He was no longer making the slightest attempt to hide his dislike, if not contempt.

Livie drew the shortest letter from her reticule and handed it over.

Her father scanned it quickly. “This is one of the letters I sent you, with advice that I sincerely hope you took to heart. I note here that novels ‘are in their nature shameful, in their tendency pestiferous, and contain rank treason against the royalty of Virtue and horrible violations of all decorum.’ I stand by that judgment.”

He put down the letter. “I gather that you are implying that my mention of ‘treason’ is tantamount to a plot against His Majesty.” He brayed with laughter again, the sound filling the stone-walled cell.