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Within minutes, they came to Hanover Square and then turned off onto Shepherd Street. Peering through the window, he saw a familiar carriage parked along the curb. The small hairs on the back of Hugh’s neck stood on end.

“What the hell is Carrigan doing here?” Hugh asked while reaching for the handle. He’d opened the door before Norris had even come to a full stop behind the other Neatham driver. Hugh jumped to the pavement and met the surprised expressions of his wife’s brawny driver and her former lady’s maid.

“You were supposed to be with Audrey at Hyde Park,” Hugh said to them. “What is my wife doing here?”

“My lord,” Carrigan answered, “her ladyship met with the young woman as planned, then requested to come here.”

“She wished to speak to Mrs. Harwood, my lord,” Greer tacked on.

Cold panic slashed down Hugh’s spine, and he started for the front door. Holding his breath, his heart thrashing, he gripped the knocker and clapped it down three times. No sound came from within. On his previous visit, Mrs. Harwood herself had answered the door. He waited, though only a handful of seconds before bringing the knocker down thrice more.

“Mrs. Harwood? Mr. Harwood?” he shouted, hoping to be heard through the wooden door. He tried the handle. It was locked, of course.

Then, from inside the house, Hugh heard the shattering of glass.

“Mr. Harwood, open this door!” Hugh slammed his shoulder into the door, attempting to force it open, but it was hopeless.

“My lord,” Carrigan’s voice came from behind, and the driver physically pushed the viscount aside. “Allow me.”

Hugh backed away from the front step as the driver lifted his foot and brought it forward, attempting to kick in the door.

“I’ll go around the back!” Thornton called from the pavements. He dashed toward the corner of the street, with Sir on his heels. There would be a back door, to be sure—and the glasshouse too.

Carrigan kicked at the door again, and when it didn’t give way, he slammed the whole of his weight against it, shoulder to wood. A cracking sound preceded the door opening and Carrigan stumbling forward with it. He stepped aside and allowed Hugh to rush in just as another commotion from the back of the house—more breaking glass—spurred Hugh forward.

“Audrey!” he bellowed.

He was so focused on reaching the back of the slim entrance hall that he didn’t see Morris Harwood coming off the stairs until he was right upon him. Harwood pulled Hugh by the arm, then pummeled him in the jaw. The blow stunned him, but Hugh had taken a hit to the face more times than he could count. He recovered fast and buried his fist in Harwood’s soft gut. The man hinged forward, and then Carrigan was there, pulling Harwood down onto the floor.

“I’ve got him. Go!” he shouted to Hugh, as he pinned the other man’s arms behind his back.

Hugh carried on, knowing for certain now that his wife was in danger. Not just his wife—his child too. He ran faster, instinctively moving toward the glasshouse. There was a back door there, one Audrey would have recalled and headed toward.

The door leading into the glasshouse was open, and he spied a broken terracotta pot on the tiles just inside, dirt and greenery scattered among the shards.

“Audrey!” he shouted again as he leapt over the debris—and then came to a sliding stop.

At the turn in the path ahead, his wife stood facing Mrs. Harwood; Audrey held a sharp garden spade and had it pointed toward the other woman. An arm’s length away from Audrey, Mrs. Harwood brandished a small knife.

“Stand back, Mrs. Harwood!” he shouted, but the other woman seemed to have frozen. She had to have heard the commotion in the front of the house, and him, shouting for his wife. She had to know she was caught.

“She did it,” Audrey said, gasping for air. Her arm shook as she held the garden tool, her other arm wrapped protectively around her abdomen. “She killed Penelope.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Mrs. Harwood cried out. “I don’t know what happened…I wasn’t thinking. I was just so angry!”

At the glasshouse’s back door, a kerchief-wrapped fist came through one of the glass panes. Audrey flinched, and Mrs. Harwood screamed as a hand reached for the door’s lock and knob. Thornton and Sir burst in, coming upon the scene.

“Drop the knife,” Hugh ordered, taking slow, cautious steps toward the woman. “It is over.”

Mrs. Harwood shook her head, continuing to hold the blade pointed toward Audrey. She flicked it in Thornton and Sir’s direction. “Stay away!”

They raised their hands but didn’t do as commanded. Instead, they crept forward, just as Hugh was doing.

“You will not harm my wife and child, Mrs. Harwood,” Hugh said. “They have nothing to do with whatever happened with your sister-in-law.”

“You cannot possibly understand!” she screeched.

“Then you can explain it to me once you’ve laid down your weapon,” Hugh replied.