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Stacie was across the threshold and down the hall in a heartbeat.
"Breanna!" She grabbed her cousin's arms, pulling her into the entranceway, and staring in amazement as she assessed Breanna's unexpected attire. Her gaze shifted to the tall, shabbily dressed man behind her, and her eyes widened. "Wells? Is that you?"
"Yes, Miss Stacie. Indeed it is."
"Why on earth are you dressed like that?"
It was Breanna who replied. "We followed Father to his meeting place. We saw and heard everything: who he met, what they talked about—oh, Stacie…" She stared at her hands, realized they were still shaking.
"You … what?" Anastasia gasped. "Are you all right?"
"Were you followed?" Damen interrupted to demand. "Is anyone after you?"
"No, we weren't followed and yes, we're fine." A pained pause. "Physically."
Damen leaned past them, peering suspiciously out into the night and seeing nothing but a deserted street. "Let's not take any chances. Don't stay out in the open. Come in." He gestured for Wells to enter, shutting the door behind him, then leading the way to the sitting room. "I'll pour you each a drink. You look as if you've seen a ghost."
"More like a demon," Anastasia muttered. "A demon named Cunnings."
"You know?" Breanna's head jerked up as she sank into a chair.
Anastasia nodded, glancing over at Damen, who was pouring drinks at the sideboard.
"So, it really is Cunnings." He handed a glass of Madeira to Breanna, then one to Wells, a bitter scowl darkening his face. "Yes, we knew. My contacts uncovered some ugly facts about him. But I suppose I needed confirmation."
"You have it." Breanna tugged off her cap, her burnished tresses, for the first time, a bit disheveled. "He's my father's informant. That, and a great deal more."
Anastasia was too unsettled to sit still. She paced about the sitting room, looking from Breanna to Wells, a thousand questions crowding her mind, clamoring to be asked.
Her curiosity was diverted when she saw Wells lean his head wearily against the wall, looking so utterly depleted that it broke her heart.
"You're spent, my friend," she said softly, walking over and guiding him into a cushioned armchair. "You need rest."
"I'll get rest," he stated flatly, taking a healthy swallow of his drink. "After all this is resolved. Don't worry about me, Miss Stacie. I'm hardier than I look."
"Wells was heroic tonight," Breanna declared. "I don't know how I would have managed without him."
"Tell us what happened. How did you come to follow Uncle George? What did you overhear?" Stacie began blurting out her stream of questions.
Quickly, Breanna filled Stacie and Damen in on the talk she'd had with her father, on the plan she and Wells had conjured up, and on where it had taken them.
"So you actually saw Uncle George and Mr. Cunnings together?"
"Oh, we more than saw them," Breanna affirmed. "We sat at the table next to them. We eavesdropped on their entire conversation." She took an unsteady sip of Madeira, then lifted her chin, met Stacie's intent gaze. "Stacie, there's no easy way to tell you this. So, I'm not even going to try to soften the blow. Father's hiring an assassin. He means to have you killed."
A ponderous silence filled the room.
"Killed," Anastasia repeated woodenly—although her surprise was less acute than Breanna's. Any man who'd sell his niece—or any woman, for that matter—as a whore, was capable of anything. "What about Rouge? What happened to Uncle George's plan to export me?"
"Apparently, Father's fear that you're closing in on him, figuring out the full extent of his criminal activities, has overshadowed all else. He's convinced you're still in England. Probably to finish the investigation you began, and see him in prison. Either that, or…"
"Or?" Anastasia prompted.
"This is just a feeling on my part. But, judging from some of the things Father said to me, I suspect he's contemplating another reason you might have dropped out of sight—a reason that intimidates him almost as much as your plans to incriminate him."
"And what's that?"
"I think he's afraid you're with child—Damen's child. That would be almost as destructive to him as being found out. With the exception of prison, the rest of his sentence would be the same: he'd lose Uncle Henry's inheritance, control of Colby and Sons, and, of course, Damen. As for Rouge, Cunnings solved that problem for him."
