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"Cunnings is convinced that Damen isn't involved. He's satisfied that Damen believes you're really on your way to the States."
"Excellent. I suspected as much, given Damen's acting performance today at the bank. So whether I dropped out of sight because I'm pregnant with Damen's child or because I'm close to exposing Uncle George as a criminal, he thinks I haven't yet gone to Damen with the news." Still baffled, Breanna nodded.
"What if I found the evidence I was looking for? What if I got hold of exactly what it would take to throw Uncle George into prison?" A smile curved Anastasia's lips. "I'd share that proof with Damen immediately, wouldn't I?"
"But we don't have any proof."
"Your father doesn't know that."
Breanna's brows drew together. "Do you want me to plant a seed in Father's mind?"
"Absolutely not. He'd never believe you. Uncle George already knows your loyalty lies with me. No, we'll let Cunnings take care of that for us."
"How?"
"That's easy." Anastasia grinned. "Remember our pact. I'll go to the bank in the morning, pretending to be you. I'll insist on seeing Damen, alone, in his private office. Mr. Cunnings will be unbearably curious about the nature of my visit—pardon me, Breanna's visit. Damen and I will make sure he overhears every word of our private talk. I'll tell Damen that Anastasia contacted me, saying she found the evidence she was searching for, but that she was reluctant to deliver it to Bow Street without first getting my—Breanna's—permission. After all, turning over this evidence would mean sending Breanna's father to prison, and thereby tainting the Colby name, neither of which Anastasia felt right doing without securing Breanna's consent first. Being the moral person Breanna is, she'll fully support Anastasia's decision once she sees the evidence."
Stacie turned to Damen. "Damen, you'll gallantly refuse to have Breanna meet Anastasia alone. You'll arrange to be there with her when she reads Stacie's evidence—which will be, say, at the docks, at ten o'clock that night. You'll tell Breanna that, once this damning proof is in your hands, you'll be the one to turn it over to the authorities, sparing both her and Anastasia any potential risk. Cunnings will hear this entire plan. He'll rush off to contact Uncle George, alerting him to the fact that he'd better intercept whatever evidence Anastasia has before she shares it with you and Breanna—and you present it to the authorities. Uncle George will panic. He'll arrive at the docks at nine-fifty p.m.—he's always prompt, and this time he'll want to be early so, hopefully, he can grab Anastasia, destroying her and her proof before you and Breanna even lay eyes on it. Sure enough, you both won't have arrived yet, giving Uncle George just the advantage he needs. When I show up, as myself, we'll have a little scene. I'll provoke him into admitting what he's done. It shouldn't be hard, given his high opinion of himself and the fact that he believes we're alone."
A triumphant smile lit Stacie's face. "What Uncle George won't know is that Bow Street
has been alerted to the situation, and has men hiding behind the warehouses and listening to every word that's spoken. Once he's confessed, they can take him away. Now, are we all ready to enact my plan?"
"Absolutely not." Damen sliced the air with his palm. "Your plan neglects to take into account a few minor details. Such as, what if this assassin Cunnings hires is watching the bank when Breanna visits? What if he figures out it's you, not she, who's calling on me, and he decides to carry out his job then and there? He's a professional killer, Stacie; there's no guarantee you can fool him."
"We don't have to try." Breanna's eyes were glittering precisely like Anastasia's. "Stacie will stay here, in your home, safe. I'l
l come to the bank."
"And what will you tell your father?" Stacie demanded, hands on hips. "Before he thrashes you, that is?"
"I'll tell him nothing. I won't see him. I'll spend the remainder of the night right here. Then, I'll borrow one of your gowns, take our phaeton, and ride to the bank as soon as it opens."
Anastasia's jaw dropped. "And how will you explain your absence at Medford Manor?"
"I won't have to." Breanna's lips curved, and she explained to them how she'd stuffed her bed to make it look slept in. "My lady's maid will peek in, and think I'm still asleep. By the time she realizes her mistake, I'll have finished my business in London and be on my way home. Given the speed of your courier—Cunnings's courier—Father will have received his warning message before I return, so he'll already know where I've been. Beating me for it would be counterproductive: it would only alert me to the fact that he's aware of my plan, which would give me the opportunity to warn Stacie. So he'll save my whipping for after he deals with her." Breanna's smile widened. "But, as we all know, there won't be any 'after' for Father. He'll be en route to Newgate."
"And if he brings a weapon?" Damen demanded.
"Father's no marksman," Breanna assured him. "I'm a far more accurate shot than he is. He's also a coward. That's why he's paying an assassin to do his dirty work, rather than taking care of things himself. When it comes to violence, Father uses his fists, not a pistol."
"Which brings me back to the assassin." Damen's scowl deepened. "Obviously, Cunnings will alert him to our plan at the same time he alerts George. He'll respond by being right there at the docks waiting for Stacie to show up."
"I'm sure he will be," Anastasia concurred. "But Cunnings will also instruct him not to shoot me until Uncle George gets the written evidence he's there to collect. So I'll be safe until that happens. And once this assassin sees Bow Street
swarming about, I doubt he'll rush forward, pistol aimed and ready."
"It's bloody risky," Damen said, with a hard shake of his head. "I don't like it."
"You'll be there to safeguard me," Anastasia reminded him. "Bring your own pistol, if it makes you feel better. Give me one, as well. But this is the only way we're going to catch Uncle George. Before he makes sure I'm…" She wet her lips, not eager to finish her own sentence.
"Dammit," Damen bit out, only too well aware of Stacie's implication, and the fact that she was right.
"What about Wells?" Anastasia suddenly realized aloud. "He's been at his post every morning for three decades. If he and Breanna stay here overnight, he'll be glaringly absent at dawn. That will make Uncle George suspicious."
"That's true." Damen rubbed his chin, considering the issue thoughtfully.
"I told the viscount I felt ill," Wells protested. "He won't be surprised if I'm not up and about at dawn."
