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At first glance, she thought it was her mother.
Instinct made her look more closely, and she realized her mistake in a flash.
It wasn't her mother. It was Aunt Anne.
Trepidation gripped Breanna's gut.
Her father had kept Aunt Anne's portrait all these years. Clearly, he'd been consumed for decades by a woman he adamantly believed should have been his.
But what really frightened her was that he'd chosen tonight to destroy it, as if he'd finally banished Aunt Anne from his life.
Just as he intended to banish Stacie.
Time was running out.
Stuffing the miniature into her pocket, Breanna took off at a tear, bolting down the hall and bursting out the side door.
Wells and the phaeton were waiting. Panting, Breanna climbed into the passenger seat, adjusting her cap and peering around the drive.
Silently, Wells pointed, indicating that her father's carriage was nearing the gates.
Breanna nodded.
They waited only until George's phaeton had turned the corner, disappeared from view.
Then Wells slapped the reins.
* * *
Damen's contacts were as good as their word.
By one A.M., they'd compiled and delivered personal details on every one of the five men—his four bank officers and Graff—who had access to the private offices at the House of Lockewood.
Proust brought the final papers to the sitting room, where Damen and Anastasia were already poring over what they'd received.
"That's the last of what you requested, sir," Proust announced.
"Thank you, Proust." Damen glanced at the grandfather clock, which heralded the hour as ten past one. "Go to bed. Anastasia and I can manage from here."
"Very good, sir." The valet bowed and took his leave.
"I see absolutely nothing incriminating about Booth," Stacie murmured. She was curled up on the settee, papers strewn all around her, and she frowned as she read and reread the pages on Booth. "He lives a simple life, doesn't gamble or attend parties, and resides in a modest flat several blocks from the bank. Even his savings account is adequate but not huge, although I doubt this snake would be stupid enough to deposit his illegal earnings in your bank."
"Probably not." Damen crossed over, sank into the armchair beside Anastasia. "However, you'd be surprised how arrogant some people become when they feel they've outsmarted the world. They become lax, make careless mistakes. I see it every day in business." He peered over Stacie's shoulder. "In Booth's case, though, I think we're barking up the wrong tree. I've reviewed everything three times, and I see nothing to label him as anything but a quiet, honest man."
With a frustrated sigh, Anastasia tossed the pages aside. "We've also reviewed the pages on Valldale and Lockhorn. They, too, appear to be as innocent as babes. Which means that all we have left are Graff and Cunnings. Both of whom have been with you longer than any of the others. Both of whom have handled your confidential papers for nearly a decade."
"All the more reason we have to investigate them." A muscle worked in Damen's jaw as he tore the seal of the newly delivered envelope. "I can't let sentiment interfere with learning the truth."
"Damen, I can't imagine…" Stacie broke off, waving away his oncoming rebuttal. "I know. We have to be sure. Fine. Let's be sure. But I'm beginning to wonder if this is all a waste of time."
"Someone told George about us. Someone is corresponding with Rouge. If these papers don't tell us who that someone is, we'll find another way. But I want that son of a bitch stopped."
Anastasia heard the pain in his voice, and she put aside her doubts, aching for what this part of the investigation was doing to him. "I love you," she said quietly, reaching out to caress his forearm.
Damen looked up, the tension on his face softening, although the fiercely protective light in his eyes seemed to intensify rather than diminish. "And I love you. I don't think you realize how much." He caught her palm, brought it to his lips. "I want my ring on your finger," he said fervently. "I want to flourish you before the world as my wife. I want my child growing inside you. And I mean to make all those wants realities the minute you're safe and those bastards are in Newgate. I intend to move heaven and earth to see that that happens."
Anastasia's fingertips caressed his jaw. "I hope you realize something, Lord Sheldrake," she murmured in a watery tone. "Brilliant as you are, some things are not even in your control."
