Inwardly sighing, she gave him her hand; gathering her skirts, she climbed into the carriage. Sir Freddie released her and she sat opposite him, facing forward. Sir Freddie nodded to his footman. The man shut the door; an instant later, the carriage started slowly rolling.

“Now.” Sir Freddie fixed her with a calmly superior smile. “You must let me apologize for this little charade. I’m sure you understand that, given the nature of my interest and thus the reason behind my request for an interview, there would be nothing more unappealing to me than in any way whatever giving the gossipmongers reason to wag their tongues.”

Alicia inclined her head; from her experience, now extensive, of Sir Freddie’s circumlocutory periods, she knew it was pointless to try to rush him. He would get to his peroration in his own good time. Nevertheless…“Now we are here, you perceive me all ears, sir.”

“Indeed.” Sir Freddie returned her nod. “I should also explain that I did not think it appropriate, in the circumstances, to call at Torrington House.” He held up a hand as if to stem a protest she hadn’t made. “I’m quite sure I would be treated with all due consideration, indeed graciousness, however, I am aware that Manningham is an old and valued friend of Torrington’s.” Sir Freddie paused, as if weighing that fact anew. Eventually, he said,

“Suffice to say I deemed it impolitic to call on you there.”

Again, she inclined her head and wondered how long he would take to come to the point. Given that point—his offer for Adriana’s hand—she turned her mind to finding the words with which to refuse him.

Sir Freddie rambled on and on; his voice, polished, light, his accents refined, was easy on the ear. Smoothly, he described his current position, his reasons for looking for a wife, then moved on to Adriana’s manifold charms.

The carriage suddenly rocked, the wheel dipping in a pothole; mildly surprised that such a thing existed on the fashionable carriageway, Alicia refocused on Sir Freddie’s eloquence, and discovered he was still describing, in phrases both flowery and convoluted, just what it was about her sister that had attracted his notice.

Counseling patience, she folded her hands in her lap, and waited. Her mind slid away… she imagined Maggs, under his tree, watching the carriage go around and around the park…

Instinct flickered. The carriage blinds had been drawn from the first, she’d assumed to prevent the interested seeing Sir Freddie speaking with her. The carriage rocked again; the blinds swayed—and she caught a glimpse of what lay outside.

It wasn’t the park.

She looked at Sir Freddie as the sounds outside registered. They were traveling down some major road, not one lined with trees, not even with shops, but with houses—a road that led not into the city, but out of it.

Her shock, her realization, showed in her face.

Something changed in Sir Freddie’s expression, as if a thin, obscuring veil was drawn aside; abruptly she realized that he was watching her closely, a coldly calculating look in his eyes.

He smiled. Before the gesture had been urbanely charming; now it chilled.

“Ah—I did wonder how long it would take.” His voice, too, had subtly changed, all pleasantness leaching from it.

“However, before you think of making any heroic attempt to escape, I suggest you listen to what I have to say.”

His eyes held hers, and they were colder than a snake’s. Alicia sat transfixed, her thoughts tumbling, churning. “Escape” implied…

“The most important thing you need to bear in mind is that there’s another carriage ahead of us on this road. It contains two rather rough men—I wouldn’t distinguish them with the title of gentleman—in company with your youngest brother. Matthew, as I’m sure you know, has a habit of slipping outside when he grows bored with his lessons. He did so, with a little encouragement I admit, this morning, just after you’d left the house. He’s an enterprising young chap, quite capable of evading all supervision when he chooses.” Sir Freddie smiled. “But I’m sure you know that.”

Alicia’s heart lurched; the blood drained from her face. She did know of Matthew’s occasional excursions—just to the area between the house and the street to watch the world rumble by—but since they’d moved to Torrington House, she’d thought they’d stopped. “What do you want with Matthew?”

Sir Freddie’s brows rose. “Why nothing, my dear— nothing at all. He’s merely a pawn to ensure you behave as I wish.” His gaze hardened. “If you do as I say, no harm will come to him. Those two men I spoke of have strict orders, ones it’s to their advantage to obey. They’ll take your brother to a safe place, and wait with him there for word from me. Depending on how matters transpire, I will instruct them either to return him to Upper Brook Street unharmed”—his lips curved lightly, tauntingly, “or to kill him.”

He held her gaze. “The instruction I send will depend on you.”

Alicia fought to met his gaze levelly, to keep her expression impassive, to keep her fear, her panic, at bay. Icy chills ran up and down her spine. Matthew…a vise squeezed her heart even as, instinctive and immediate, she searched for the means to free him. Maggs—he would fetch Tony… she couldn’t work out the how and when, not with Sir Freddie’s cold and sharply observant eyes on her.

She licked her lips, forced her lungs to work. “What do you want me to do?” She frowned. “What is this all about?” Why kidnap her and Matthew if it was Adriana Sir Freddie wanted?

She allowed her confusion and total incomprehension to show in her face.

Sir Freddie laughed.

The sound chilled her to the marrow.

Then he smiled, and she wanted nothing more than to flee. “This, my dear, is about me covering my tracks, an unfortunate necessity brought on by Ruskin. He couldn’t seem to understand that the war was over and the easy pickings with it.”

She stared at him. “You’re A. C?”

“A. C?” Sir Freddie blinked, then his face cleared. “Ah, yes, I’d almost forgotten.”

He shifted. With a graceful sweep of his arm, he bowed, the gesture full of his customary elegant charm. Face, lips lightly curved, and manner were all one, but as he straightened, his cold, pale eyes met hers. “Sir Alfred Caudel, my dear, at your service.”

Tony returned to Torrington House midmorning. After reviewing their information, the group had agreed that Jack Warnefleet and Christian, neither of whom had been visible thus far in the affair, should visit Ellicot’s offices and extract by whatever means they could some idea of who was behind the company.

There was a limit to how unsubtle they could be; there was no guarantee of a quick and favorable outcome. Restless, impatient, sensing matters were nearing a head but with nothing he could reasonably do, Tony had returned home.

He’d only just settled behind his desk when the study door burst open and panic—carried by David, Harry, Matthew, and Jenkins—rushed in.

“Alicia!” Matthew shrieked. “You’ve got to go and save her.”

Tony caught him as he charged around the desk and flung himself at him. “Yes, of course,” he replied, his gaze locking on the others.

David and Harry had rushed to the desk, gripping the front edge, their expressions as horrified as Matthew’s. Jenkins, close on their heels, was not much better, and out of breath as well.

“My lord,” Jenkins puffed, “Maggs sent us to tell you—Mrs. Carrington was inveigled into a carriage which then took off to the west.”

Tony swore, started to rise. “Where’s Maggs?”

Jenkins struggled for breath. “He’s following the carriage. He said he’d send word as he can.”

Tony nodded curtly. “Sit down.” Lifting Matthew into his arms, he turned his attention to the older boys. “Now, David—tell me what you know, from the beginning.”

David dragged in a huge breath, held it for a second, then complied. The story came out in reasonable order: Alicia visiting the schoolroom, mentioning she was going for a walk—Tony had imagined her out with Miranda and Adriana—the boys then prevailing on Jenkins to take their nature lesson in the park; they’d arrived to find Maggs running toward them, swearing and cursing, watching a black carriage that had passed the boys turn out of the park and roll away to the west. Maggs had pounced on them, given them the message, hailed a hackney, and set off after the carriage.

“All right.” Tony felt none of their panic; he’d spent the last decade dealing with similarly fraught situations. He welcomed, even relished what he recognized as the call to arms; he couldn’t yet see how it related, but he knew a bugle when he heard it. “Did Maggs say who was in the carriage?”

The boys shook their heads. So did Jenkins. “I don’t think he saw who it was, my lord.”

“It was Sir Freddie someone’s carriage.” The mumbled words, spoken around a thumb, came from Matthew.

Tony glanced at him, then sat him on the desk so he could see his face. He pulled up his chair and sat, too, so he wasn’t towering over the boy. “How do you know that?”

Matthew took his thumb out of his mouth. “Horses. This time, he had four, but the front two were the ones that always pull his carriage. I know them from when he came to call at the other house.”

Tony wondered how much reliance to place on a small boy’s observations. He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked into Harry’s face.

“Matthew notices things—and he really does know horses.”

Tony looked at David, who nodded, then at Jenkins, recovering in a chair. Jenkins nodded, too. “He’s very good about details, my lord. Excellent memory.”

Tony paused, then swallowed the curse that rose to his lips. Rising, he turned to the bookshelves behind the desk, scanned, then pulled out his copy of Debrett’s.

A tap fell on the door, then it opened. Geoffrey Manningham strolled in. Across the room, Tony met his gaze.

Instantly, Geoffrey came alert. “What? What’s happened?”

“Caudel has kidnapped Alicia.” Tony opened the book, swiftly flicking pages. He found the entry for Caudel. He read it, and swore beneath his breath. “Sir Alfred Caudel.”

He slammed the book shut. “A. C. Currently with the Home Office. From an old if not ancient family, his principal estate is in north Oxfordshire, near Chipping Norton, not far from the tavern where those letters from the French captains were sent.”

Geoffrey’s mouth had fallen open; he snapped it shut. “Caudel? Good God—no wonder he’s so desperate to scotch the investigation.”

“Indeed, and no wonder he knew so much about the investigation itself.” Standing behind the desk, fingers lightly drumming, Tony rapidly assembled a plan, checking and re-checking, mentally listing all the necessary orders. He glanced at the three boys, spared them a reassuring smile. “I’ll go after them.”

Geoffrey frowned. “You know where they’ve gone?’

“Maggs has them in his sights—he’ll send word as soon as he passes a hostelery.” Tony spoke to the boys.

“Maggs knows what to do—he won’t stop following Alicia. I’ll head out as soon as I know which road—Maggs and I have a system we’ve used before. It’ll work, so don’t worry that we’ll lose the trail.” He looked at Geoffrey. “I need you to get word to the others, and then wait here with Adriana, Miranda, and the rest—no need for vapors, I’ll bring Alicia back.”

Geoffrey nodded. “Right. Who do you want me to get hold of?”

Tony gave him a list. Dalziel first; Tony wrote a short note summarizing the evidence that Sir Freddie was A. C. He handed it to Geoffrey. “Give that to Dalziel—into his hand, don’t show it to anyone else. Use my name, that’ll get you through his pickets. Then go to Hendon House and tell Jack, then to the club, and tell the majordomo, Gasthorpe. Tell him the others—Deverell’s out of town but the other five—all need to know.”

While he’d talked, he’d risen and tugged the bellpull. Hungerford appeared; Tony ordered his curricle brought around with the bays put to. Without comment, Hungerford left.

Almost immediately he returned. “A message from Maggs, my lord, brought by an ostler from Hounslow. Maggs says it’s the Basingstoke road.”

Having assimilated the fact that Sir Freddie was A. C., which he verified beyond doubt by telling her the details of how his scheme had operated, and of how he’d worked since Ruskin’s death to turn all blame on her, Alicia still didn’t know the answer to her question. She fixed Sir Freddie with a steady gaze. “What do you plan to do now? What do you want me to do?”