At Savege Park?

Lucas nodded, confidence suffusing his features. “I saw how you had her alone out there in the dark, with her face all blotched and wet. She wasn’t even sixteen, for God’s sake. Lucky you stopped teasing her when you did. I nearly went out there and corked you, but I’d a lady I couldn’t leave in the middle of the set. But my sister’s eyes were red all night after that, you scoundrel.”

Finally Wyn found his tongue. “Lucas—”

“I won’t spare words, sir, no matter how you’re welcome in Savege’s house. I don’t trust you. Haven’t since that night. And I saw how she looked tonight when the two of you were talking, like she wanted to blubber again. Then I lost the pair of you only to find her running in from Lady B’s garden looking as agitated as I’ve ever seen her. Damn you, Yale, it ain’t right to treat a lady like that.”

“You mistake matters, sir.”

Lucas puffed out his chest. “I don’t think I do, and I won’t have you teasing her again. She’s had a hard time of it, what with my—our mother—” He stuttered to a halt. “Thing is, she needs my consent to wed, and I won’t give her to you.”

“Do her wishes have no relevance?”

“She’s an impetuous girl. But she’s a good sort who’d do anything for someone she likes. Loyal as a hound, don’t you know.” His words came thickly now; he cared for her greatly, Wyn could see. “She deserves a better fellow than one who’d press his attentions on an awkward, unattractive girl those years ago. Now that she’s looking better I still won’t have it.”

Apparently Lucas had not seen the boys on the terrace the night of that ball. But it didn’t matter. Now she was in far greater danger than anything that had come before, and this time he was in fact the cause of it.

“I see,” he said, his thoughts sliding together with a peculiarly cool clarity, a solution tugging at him, aligning the pieces. “She has a mind of her own. But no doubt you already know that.”

“Don’t I! She’s headstrong and reckless and she’s never been any different. But that don’t mean she’s got to settle for a fellow like you.”

“Lucas.” Wyn lowered his voice. “Your sister has one wish, and you, I believe, are the only man able to fulfill it.”

Sir Tracy’s bright blue eyes widened. “What are you—”

“You know where Lady Carlyle is now. Do you not?”

Lucas gaped, then spluttered. “Well I don’t rightly—”

“I believe you do. I have reason to believe that your mother is in London for a short while and that she sent word to you recently requesting financial assistance in a business venture.” In the Secret Office that afternoon he’d read dozens upon dozens of letters before he’d come across the note at the end of one informant’s report, identifying the baroness as one of several persons seeking investors to fund a ring of high-end prostitution. The informant had noted that the baroness seemed to be an avid opium smoker, allied to her partner—a City man—to feed her addiction but otherwise living modestly, and of little concern to government now. It was suspected that she and her partner intended to return their business to France. “Have you seen her?”

“I have. Only the once,” Lucas admitted roughly. “But how would you know about her unless you had something to do with that all?”

“I don’t. I don’t even know where she is in London, which is why I need your help.”

“My help? Of all the—”

“Be quiet, Lucas. And listen to me now.”

Lucas’s brows shot up beneath his thatch of gold curls.

“Your sister wishes to see her mother. It is her most cherished desire.”

Sir Tracy frowned. “She told me that the other day. Told me a few times before too,” he added reluctantly. “But she don’t understand.”

“She does understand. And you must allow it. You must arrange a meeting between them in a secure location so that your sister’s safety will not be in jeopardy. Can you do that before your mother departs for the Continent?”

“No.” His jaw turned mulish. “If you know what my mother is now you’ll know that a girl like my sister shouldn’t be exposed to that sort of business.”

“Your sister is not a girl. She is a woman. And she already knows your mother’s business.”

Lucas’s shoulders fell. “She—”

“She is headstrong and reckless, but she is also resourceful and uncannily wise.” And beautiful and generous-hearted and she drove him insane with wanting her, and with his next words he was giving her away. “Tomorrow I will call upon her and ask for her hand, and she will accept me—”

Lucas’s mouth shot open. “Y—”

“—unless you promise me that you will take her to see Lady Carlyle before she leaves London.”

Sir Tracy’s brow furrowed. “And if I make that promise?”

“I will make certain that after I call on her tomorrow she will be as convinced as you are that I am not the man for her. Quite soundly convinced.” His gut was hollow, his pulse erratic, and his lungs seemed to have relinquished their will to function. If this was how it finally felt to be a real hero, heroism could go to the dogs.

Lucas peered at him with wary eyes. “And I suppose you expect to attend this interview too. To make certain I don’t renege.”

“I am a man of my word, Lucas. I will pay you the compliment of believing you are as well.”

“Pretty phrases, Yale. But I’m no blushing virgin to be bamboozled.”

Wyn had never imagined that learning his great-aunt’s lessons so well would bring him to this. “Then believe this: I could not remain for the interview even if I wished it. I must leave town early tomorrow and haven’t an idea of when I will return.” But after the morning, Yarmouth’s man in Savege’s house would have no doubt that Diantha meant more to him than mere sport. Even before Wyn reached Yarmouth, she would be safe.

“No.” Lucas shook his head. “She’s tenacious. Why, just look at her with my mother! If she wants you she’ll stick, whether you like it or not.”

“Not after this. I assure you.”

Lucas seemed to consider. His eyes narrowed. “Permanently? No making it up to her the day after?”

“Nor next week, nor next month. I give you my word. As a gentleman.”

It was with a sick sort of relief sliding through him that he watched Lucas nod, at first tentatively, then with greater conviction.

“All right,” he finally said. “Do I have your word, Yale?”

“You have it.” Just as a lady with lapis eyes had the rest of him.

Wyn left behind Lucas and the scents of wine and righteous indignation, but the sensation of profound loss he could not throw off. He went to Dover Street. It seemed likely he would die upon reaching the duke’s castle, and he wished all his business settled first.

The gold numbers and falcon-shaped knocker on the door of 14½ glittered in the lamplight. Wyn rang the bell and the panel opened, revealing a giant ape of a man with a baby’s face.

“Evening, sir.”

“Is anyone in, or am I the lone bird in the roost tonight, Grimm?”

“Milord is within.”

“Grimm, I’ve an assignment for you. Are you available for the next several days?”

The Falcon Club’s hulking henchman nodded heavily. Wyn gave him the Savege’s house number, instructed him to keep watch until he arrived the following day and to learn from the morning tradesmen and servants what he could concerning newcomers in the household.

Grimm planted a hat atop his head. “You can count on Joseph Grimm, sir. None will harm her tonight.”

When Wyn turned from the closing door, the Falcon Club’s secretary stood in the parlor entrance.

“Welcome home, Yale.”

Wyn took Viscount Colin Gray’s extended hand. The nobleman’s clasp was like everything about him: powerful, steady, confident. Ten years ago Colin had found him at Cambridge, surpassing his masters in every subject, frustrated and restless like a caged animal fed on butchered meat while hungering for the hunt. Colin had brought him here, to help found an agency and do work for which he would rarely be thanked and never feted. Eager to make something of himself through the use of his intelligence, to prove his father and brothers wrong, Wyn had jumped at the chance.

“I have commandeered Grimm.” He released the viscount’s grasp and moved into the parlor, a modest, paneled chamber of quiet elegance that accommodated only five people. Five original members of the club, of which only he and Constance now remained along with Gray. But not for long.

The viscount moved to the sideboard. “What can I pour you?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

Gray’s steely blue eyes barely acknowledged the unprecedented moment. He poured and settled into a chair, glass in hand.

“What brings you here tonight, Yale? The need for Grimm only?”

“Alex Savege’s sister-in-law, Diantha Lucas, is being watched by a hireling of a nasty fellow. I need Grimm to keep her in sight until I can send you word that she is clear of danger.”

Gray nodded. “It was Diantha Lucas, then?”

“What was?”

The viscount stood and opened a small casket set on the mantel. From it he withdrew a folded sheet of foolscap and extended it to Wyn.

The hand crossing the paper was firm and feminine.

Attn: Secretary, The Falcon Club

14½ Dover Street, London

Sir,

Despite the difficulties that my assistant faced on the road in following the member of your club that you call Raven, I do know the identity of this man. I will not disclose it here lest prying eyes intercept this message.

I am telling you this—rather than making it public to the people of England who deserve to know—because with Raven in Shropshire traveled a young lady of Quality. I am not interested in exposing innocent persons to the censure of society, only in uncovering injustice. I do not wish to bring Ignominy down upon the lady, yet I fear that if I reveal the identity of your fellow club member this lady will not escape unscathed. Thus, my hands are tied.

I felt it necessary to bring this to your attention, not only to inform you that I still wish to see your establishment exposed to the public for scrutiny, and its ledgers inspected, but also so that you will know I am quite sincere in my intentions. You, I think, know little of honor and less of gentility. But perhaps your friend, Raven, is another sort of man. I will rely upon it.

—LJ

Wyn folded the paper. “Then you and I needn’t dally in pleasantries any further. Clearly I am finished here, but I still need Grimm to watch her.”

Gray set the letter in the box and returned to his chair. “It will be his sole task until you say otherwise.” He took up his glass again. “But you needn’t be finished here.”

“I am to be dismissed from the club. I know this as well as you. Cut my jesses and set me free, finally, as you have intended these past several months.” The urgency pressing beneath his skin needed this finished now.

“The director has no wish to release you from service. You are valuable to this organization.”

“Come now, my lord. The Duke of Yarmouth is a pustule on the face of this kingdom and Lady Priscilla was a reprimand.” His heart raced. “Although really I didn’t mind it, as it provided me occasion to spend a delightful sojourn in a cramped hunting box in Manchester with a number of whoring gentlemen of little fashion and intelligence and no taste whatsoever in women.” And occasion to encounter a determined lady on a Mail Coach in the rain.

“Whether you wish to leave the club by your own volition is, of course, another matter,” Gray said as though he hadn’t spoken.

Wyn stared at the glass in the viscount’s hand. “You never jest, do you?”

“Rarely.” Gray’s face remained passive, his square jaw, proud nose, and serious regard the portrait of British power. “Do you truly wish to be jesting now?”

The fire crackled low on the grate, and on the street without, beyond the lead-reinforced windows of the Falcon Club’s headquarters, the muffled clatter of a carriage passed.

“The director did not choose this assignment for you as chastisement, Wyn. Yarmouth requested you specifically.”

Wyn sucked in his breath. He might have guessed it, but it made no sense.

“You have done admirable service for England. More than admirable. And you’ve made precious few mistakes.”

“Colin, you know precisely how many mistakes I have made.”

“One.” The viscount’s dark eyes snapped. “For this with Lady Justice cannot truly be accounted a mistake. That woman has had a watch on this building for nearly three years. Blackwood and Seton have not crossed the threshold in that time, and Constance comes cloaked and hooded in an unmarked carriage. I’ve little doubt Lady Justice knows my identity too and is merely awaiting the opportune moment to reveal it to the entire kingdom. But until that day I will continue our work. As you should.”