“Napoleon gains strength. He’s garnering support across France. If the Crown is going to strike, it will do so soon. We don’t need informants to tell us that.” The voice, laced with disdain, sounded foreign, but Alex couldn’t identify it through the thick door.

“No, of course not. I wasn’t suggesting that you did. I was simply pointing out that I have many strong connections that could prove useful in your search for information. If a strike is planned, I can help you predict it. I think I’ve done more than prove my commitment to your cause.” Alex put a hand to her mouth in surprise, recognizing that she was eavesdropping on a particularly dark conversation. She stayed quiet, trying to hear over the pounding of her heart.

“Indeed. You have made your…commitment…more than clear.”

“I intend to do it again. I expect to, within days, have very specific information about Wellington’s movements.” Alex’s eyes widened as she realized that one of the men on the other side of the door was the worst kind of spy—one who traded secrets from British intelligence.

“I’m sure you think that’s true. But you’ll understand that we are unable to trust that you will make wise decisions any longer. We have come too far to risk losing ground. We simply cannot have you involved.” The voice was cold, calm, and dismissive; Alex could hear that even through two inches of oak. “You have acted rashly…and to no avail. You have been unable to discover anything about what is known of our plans. And the knowledge is directly under your nose. Your involvement is becoming messy. And we simply don’t have the time or the inclination to clean up after you anymore.”

“Clean up after me? I’m the one who has done the cleaning.” Alex started as the voice on the other side of the door shook with barely contained anger. “If it weren’t for me, this entire operation would have been uncovered. You, and everyone else, would have been found and hanged. If it weren’t for me, Blackmoor would still be alive.”

Alex’s mouth gaped in horror as she grasped the importance of what she was hearing. She knew she should run and fetch her father, Vivi’s father, and any number of others. But she couldn’t bring herself to move from her spot, waiting for the next revelation.

“And even with him dead, you cannot seem to retrieve the information he had. We’re lucky that, by now, the young earl hasn’t discovered everything and had us all strung up for treason. Between your botched robbery and your almost being discovered, this entire string of events has become far too risky.”

“You need not worry. Young Blackmoor will very soon no longer be of concern. I plan to deal with him.”

“Forgive me if I have little faith in your ability to follow through on that promise.”

Alex was unable to keep the gasp from escaping as she realized what the villain on the other side of the door meant. The noise rent the air, jolting her out of her trance as silence fell on the other side of the door. She flew down the hallway, her soft calfskin slippers lending her a silent tread. Once she reached the orangery, she sank to the ground in the darkened room, allowing the sweet smell of citrus flowers to envelop her. Her heart was pounding with the realization of what she’d just overheard; she could barely think for the sound of her labored breathing.

The earl had been murdered. Gavin had been right. Alex shook her head, as though the action could erase her newfound knowledge. The elder Earl of Blackmoor was dead and Gavin was in danger. Blackmoor would no longer be a concern after this evening, they had said. She had to get to him first.

The thought had barely formed before she leapt to her feet, nothing considered except that she had to find Gavin. She started to exit the orangery when she heard a latch click along the hallway.

Pressing herself against the wall, she offered a silent prayer of thanks for the darkness and shadows that hid her position and she peered down the hallway as one man, then a second, emerged from the room. She couldn’t identify either of the figures for a moment—they simply appeared as shadows clad in formal attire—but as they moved closer to the light trickling into the passageway from the ballroom, her eyes widened in horror.

While she wasn’t entirely certain, she was fairly sure that one of the men was Lucian Sewell, Gavin’s uncle.

She stood still for a moment, frozen by the gravity of everything she had overheard, combined with the weight of the probability that Gavin’s uncle had murdered his own brother in cold blood. How was she going to tell Gavin that his uncle had killed his father? How was she going to tell him that, if he did not seek help immediately, he was going to be next? She had to get to him. They could be seeking him out right now.

After waiting a brief moment to ensure that the men had indeed returned to the ball and that she would not be discovered, she retraced her steps through the darkened corridor and back to the ladies’ cloakroom, increasing her speed as she went so that she was just short of a run when she burst into the ballroom…where she was immediately stayed by the crush of people at the ball.

Looking around her, she was desperate for someone she knew. Her brow furrowed as she stood on her toes and searched for Gavin, one of her brothers, Vivi, Ella, anyone.

“Looking for someone?” The voice, close to her ear, startled her and she gave a small shriek, whirling to face a grinning Lord Stanhope.

“Oh! Freddie!” She put a hand to her chest in surprise. “You’ve no idea how happy I am that it’s you!”

“As you can imagine, I hear that from women constantly,” he jested, but the wicked gleam in his eye dissolved quickly into concern. “What’s wrong with you, kitten? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”