“Stay well clear of my wife,” Jasper said as he turned on his heel. The management might fine him for his behavior, or perhaps suspend his privileges, but it was a price worth paying. He wished Kit had been here to see it rather than skulking about in the country on some mysterious errand.

He returned to the bar, where members were tossing ten-pound notes over Granville’s shoulders. It was a modest pile. And it was the least he could do.

“Thank you for giving me an excuse to do that.” Jasper took up his refilled glass and forced his trembling hand to steady. His knuckles ached in the best possible way, but they would bruise before the night was out, and it would be impossible to explain with anything but the truth.

There were a few more truths that needed to be said.

“I’m sorry is inadequate, Granville, but I am.” He met the man’s stare. “Deeply.”

“And that is enough,” the other man said. “Thank you.”

A door opened across the way, and Annabel’s father exited a private meeting room just in front of Amos Patton, one of the most trusted booksellers in London, if not in all of Britain. He was even a fair hand at valuing antiquities.

Baron Chilworth was selling the family library. It was a wise decision, given the amount of his debt, but Jasper had seen the wonder in Annabel’s eyes anytime she entered a room with books in it. Even his mother’s small collection here in London had made her smile.

Chilworth spotted him, bade Patton farewell, and then navigated the crowd to the bar. Granville had pocketed his winnings and was marking the wager from the books.

“What’s all the commotion? What did we miss?”

“A minor entertainment,” Jasper said as he shepherded his father-in-law to a table on the edge of the room. “What did you want to discuss, sir?”

“I’ve been offered a chance to buy into a new coal mine. Since the pit has not yet been dug, shares are a bargain. I can buy twice as many and recoup a profit twice as fast.” Chilworth searched the crowd and motioned for another man to join them.

The well-dressed newcomer stuck out his hand. “Charles Christian, your lordship. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Jasper didn’t trust Christian’s easy manner, and he didn’t like the attention they were attracting. “I agreed to meet with my wife’s father, Mr. Christian. You are a surprise.”

Christian’s smile faltered for a moment. “I see. Well, I won’t take much of your time.” He took the chair next to Chilworth. “My partners and I are looking for investors in a new mine in Wales.”

“You mean there is a still land in Wales without a hole in it?” Jasper stretched his arm across the empty chair beside him.

Christian’s lips quirked at the joke, but his eyes stayed predatory. It was like watching a snake hunt its prey. “We have taken samples, and the coal deposits are impressive. Our hope is to begin excavating within a month.”

Jasper would wager next year’s rents that Charles Christian and Abel Collins were two sides of the same coin.

“And how are you planning to find miners? Most in Wales already have jobs, do they not?” Jasper watched the man’s eyes, waiting for the strike. If Kit was right, he already knew what was coming.

“Our company learned a great deal from the previous unrest in Wales. We are investing in every modern measure to ensure our workers’ safety, and given the interest, we will be able to pay a much better hourly wage.”

“See, Ramsbury?” Chilworth leaned forward like a supplicant at the communion rail. “This investment promises to make its shareholders a fortune for years to come. With a few hundred pounds, I could earn enough to…to keep the family coffers full for several generations.”

Jasper didn’t think Chilworth needed to be discreet about his finances. Christian would have done his research and chosen his victims carefully. He would know the man was in debt up to his daughter’s mink-brown eyeballs. Just as Jasper knew that once the money from the family’s library landed in Chilworth’s hands, it would go into a worthless hole in the ground.

“I know a mining inspector. I will want him to review your plans,” Jasper said. “I will also want my man of business to review your investments and your payroll plan.”

Christian blinked. “He would be welcome once the excavation has begun. These funds will help begin that process.”

“I see.” Jasper finished his drink and stood, eager to be free of the stench of greed and desperation. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

Chilworth followed him out. “But the money, Ramsbury? This discounted offer will not last.”

“If Christian wants my money, he can submit to audit and inspection. Once I am satisfied, you can buy your shares. No sooner.” Jasper collected his hat and gloves before meeting his father-in-law’s pleading stare. “You have asked for a great deal of money in addition to what I have already willingly spent.”

“But you agreed, and it is your responsibility to—”

“No, baron. It is your responsibility, and you will be patient if you want my help.”

Jasper left before his irritation overcame his mother’s lessons on politeness. Annabel had been willing to barter herself into marriage, to someone she might consider a traitor, for the sake of her sisters’ futures and her mother’s comfort. None of that should have fallen to her.

He held his hat to his head to combat the wind. Chilworth’s obsession in rebuilding his fortune was understandable, but his desperation was dangerous. As each scheme inevitably failed, he sought riskier ventures. His debts were multiplying like wild boars, and the destruction would be catastrophic.

It likely had been already. Someone in London owned Baron Chilworth’s debts.

Remember the stakes should you fail, Spencer had told Annabel.

The man collected secrets and scandal as currency. It would not be a far stretch for him to collect vowels as well. Was that his price for her intelligence and her loyalty?

Jasper stepped into the street, eager to get home to see Annabel, to tell her she had been right about her father’s plans. To find a way to broach her connection to Spencer.

Years around horses had taught him the sound of an animal’s breath when it was racing, when it was laboring under a heavy load, or both. He also knew the chorus of a team and the creak of springs, the crack of a whip as they were forced forward.

Jasper looked to his left and saw nothing save the wild eyes of a team of four and the hulking black carriage behind them. A woman may have screamed.

He lost his hat to the wind and rushed forward, out of the path, only to dodge fleeing pedestrians and plodding draft carts that narrowly missed his toes. Breathless, his heart pounding, he turned to get a look at the coach. No crest on the door, no identifiable livery, no one other than a driver.

No surprise.

His hat was mangled in the street.

Jasper found the nearest alley and slouched against the wall. That had been no runaway team. If his legs were shorter, he’d be in a broken pile in the mud next to his hat. He slid back in the shadows and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths until his heartbeat no longer deafened him. He had to get moving in case the driver doubled back for another attempt.

He stripped to his shirt and suspenders, then rolled his shirt sleeves to his elbows and gathered his coats in the crook of his arm. The last step was to tousle his hair. Then he entered the flow of people in the street, head down and shoulders stooped, hands in his pockets.

Just another working lad making his way home after a difficult day, eager to see the woman he’d missed since last night.

*

Annabel balanced her needlework basket against her hip while she knocked on Lady Lambourn’s door.

“Come in,” the countess called.

Annabel liked her mother-in-law. She had an even temper and a good sense of humor, and she had raised children with the same. Her kindness extended from the servants to the inconvenient daughter-in-law she was teaching to be a marchioness. “Good afternoon, Lady Lambourn.”

“I do wish you would call me Sylvia.” The lady looked up from her knitting. “After all, you are Lady Lambourn now.”

Annabel took a seat in the sunshine and lifted her sewing into her lap. “You will always be Lady Lambourn.” She noticed the open correspondence at Sylvia’s elbow. “News from Warwick?”

It had become their routine to spend the afternoon with their hands busy while Sylvia told stories of their family—including her brother Edgar, the Earl of Warwick, who shared his nephew’s irreverence and inappropriate humor.