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“I am bound to add that the excess in too little has ever proved in me more dangerous than the excess in too much; the last may cause indigestion, but the first causes death.”

Giacomo Casanova

SEPTEMBER 1, 1821

“Absolutely not! It will not work, and if it does, you could be slain!”

Abbott’s outrage was plain. He had been the last to arrive, disguised as a footman rather than a groom, with a heavy greatcoat, buckled shoes, and a plain wig to conceal his identity. A footman to which household, Julius wondered, not recognizing the livery.

“It might work,” Julius countered lightly.

Brendan shook his head, clearly of the same mind as Abbott. “We do not know that, and you are a valued friend.”

Julius felt frustration rising from his gut. This was why he worked alone. Or with Audrey. She tempered his plans, but did not try to stop him from pursuing his intentions. The young woman had courage in abundance, not to mention she was a useful companion when things went awry.

Although the fact that he now counted a female as one of his closest confidantes still served to unsettle him.

Not just any female, a beguiling one at that, one who had stood beside him with unflinching loyalty, even when prudence had begged retreat.

“It is time we take the knowledge we have gathered to the Home Office. There have been far too many incidents where one of us could have been hurt or killed. Lily …” Abbott swallowed hard, evidently overcome by the recollection of the day his sister had been attacked.

Brendan’s face tensed, clearly reliving that terrible day. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to you, Julius.”

Well … I suppose I should appreciate that!

Indeed, it warmed the cockles of his heart. Julius valued his friendships above all else. However, that could not be allowed to dissuade him from his commitment. His companions had suffered egregious offenses, and he had it within his grasp to solve their dilemma once and for all.

“We cannot give up our advantage when we are so close to unmasking the murderer.”

“We must! I demand we end this investigation and turn it over to the Home Secretary.”

Julius narrowed his lids, approaching the taller Abbott with a menacing mien, his temper roused. “Considering I cleared your father-in-law of a heinous crime, and ruined one of my favorite coats with a bloodied slash in a spot that can never be mended …” Julius shook his head in regret. He had loved that coat. “This is my call, Abbott. And I do not care to be told what to do!”

“Easy, gentlemen. Quarreling amongst ourselves will solve nothing,” Brendan called from across the room.

Julius inhaled to calm himself, before spinning on his heel to retreat before he did something foolhardy, such as hit a larger man while he was recovering from a knife wound.

The baron paced, a thoughtful expression forming on his face. “The clubs are buzzing with talk about your disappearance with Miss Gideon.”

Julius’s resolve dimmed. The longer they were absent, the more her reputation was being decimated. She had risked everything to aid him, and now she bore the brunt of society’s whispers.

He hoped that providing her the protection of his name would be sufficient to mitigate the scandal because it had now been six days since she had helped him flee to Aunty Gertrude’s.

“What is your point?” His bark belied the nonchalant front he preferred to portray, his defiance sharpened by his concern for Audrey’s welfare. She deserved the world’s admiration, not its disdain.

Brendan came to a stop, peering at him through the shadows of the dim tack room. “We could plant a story that you are terrified of your father’s reaction when he returns, certain that he will cut off your allowance for your dastardly behavior. The earl is hale and healthy, so it will be years before you inherit and longer still before you gain access to the estate funds.”

Abbott growled from the corner where he was standing. “No!”

Julius grinned. “I am a desperate man, willing to resort to blackmail to secure emergency funds.”

“Did you hear me? I said no!” Abbott’s tone was both adamant and pleading.

Brendan nodded. “Then, you return home and send missives to inform the three suspects that you have obtained an interesting letter, which the late baron wrote. A letter you intend on delivering to the Home Office unless someone persuades you to do otherwise, but your time is limited, so a deadline looms.”

Folding his arms to think, Julius stared down at the hard-packed earth beneath his feet. “It is a good plan. The murderer might be wary of a trap, but we might incite him if we can trigger his emotions into making a rash move. Or … he may attend the meeting and reveal himself if he believes I can be paid off.”