“We do.” Stull smacked his greasy lips. “But who could have imagined the earl would snatch up his housekeeper to go to the scene of a fire?”

“She may be more than just his housekeeper,” Helmsley said. Stull looked up sharply, his expression reminiscent of a dog whose bowl of slops was threatened.

“She damned well better not be, Helmsley,” the baron with a snort. “I’ll not pay for used goods, and if she’s strayed, then she’ll be made to wish she hadn’t.”

Helmsley kept his peace, wishing not for the first time he’d had some choice before embarking on this whole miserable scheme with Stull. But really, what choice had he had? A man needed coin, and a gentleman had few means of obtaining same.

Their time in London had been productive, however. It had been Cheevers’s suggestion to check the employment agencies, and with others set to watching in the park, Helmsley had taken his sisters’ miniatures and made the rounds. The third agency had recognized Anna’s portrait immediately, as her case was memorable: Young, not particularly experienced but obviously very genteel, they’d been able to place her in the household of a ducal heir, no less, and she had worked out there beautifully.

Not too beautifully, Helmsley hoped, as Stull could be very nasty when thwarted. In the brief glimpses Helmsley caught of his sister the previous night, Anna had seemed comfortable with the earl but not overly familiar. He hoped for her sake that was the extent of the earl’s interest in his housekeeper.

And Morgan, he realized, must have been stashed somewhere else, perhaps absorbing all of Anna’s wages with her upkeep. The agency had been forthcoming—for a price—with the information that his lordship was again in the market for a housekeeper, this time for a newly acquired property in Surrey.

Stull’s plan had been to draw the earl out to Willow Bend then hie into the city and snatch the housekeeper from under his nose. With Anna in their grasp, it would have been short work to extract Morgan’s location from her. It was, like most of Stull’s endeavors, clumsily done—and now they had the King’s man nosing about, looking for arsonists, which was no small worry.

Arson, even if only the stables burned, was a hanging felony, though they’d be tried in the Lords and probably get transported instead. Helmsley wondered for the millionth time why his sisters had to be so stubborn, wily, and unnatural, but it seemed he’d soon be rid of the pair of them.

Stull, greedy shoat, wanted them both, and Helmsley had agreed it would be better for the sisters that way—and easier for him, than if he had to live with either of them when this debacle was complete. And deaf as she was, Morgan’s options were limited at best, earl’s granddaughter or not.

Stull patted his lips with his napkin, chugged his ale, and belched contentedly. “What say we check in with those fellows watching the park, and perhaps find one of their confreres who might keep an eye on this Westhaven’s townhouse, eh? Sooner or later, a housekeeper must go to market, run her little errands, or have her half-day. We can snatch my Anna then, and the earl will be none the wiser.”

“A capital idea,” Helmsley agreed, rising. It had actually been his idea, proffered as an alternative to torching the earl’s country retreat, but Stull was not the most receptive to another’s notions once he’d got the bit between his teeth.

Stull rubbed his hands together. “And then we can have a lie down through the worst heat of the day, before turning ourselves loose on the evening entertainments, what?”

“Splendid notion.” Helmsley dredged up a smile. In London, the better brothels kept out the likes of Stull and himself. Titled though they were, Helmsley had never taken his seat, and Stull had probably voted exactly twice since coming into his title. They were not… Connected. They were instead caricatures of the sophisticated lordlings on the town, having neither savoir faire nor physical appeal.

With any luck, they would soon be in possession of both of his sisters and on their way back north. Helmsley’s pockets would be heavily lined with Stull’s gold and his conscience numbed by as much alcohol as a man could consume and remain alive.

“I tell ye, guv, the bird ain’t there.” The dirty little man spat his words, disdaining his betters with each syllable.