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“I have always loved truth so passionately that I have often resorted to lying as a way of introducing it into the minds which were ignorant of its charms.”

Giacomo Casanova

AUGUST 26, 1821

Julius arrived at Ridley House with Brendan’s letter in his hand. The past weeks had been a frustrating exercise in futile intelligence gathering. The more he learned about the suspects on their list, the less he knew about the murder of the baron. It had been a kick in the gut to receive word from Brendan earlier that day.

It happened again. I have doubled the guards.

—Filminster

Blazes to Brendan and his infuriating vagueness. What exactly had happened this time? Was anyone hurt? Julius clenched his jaw as he lifted the heavy brass knocker on Ridley House’s front door, the lion’s head glinting in the dim morning light, and brought it down in three sharp, decisive taps that echoed off the stone steps.

A few moments later, the door swung open to reveal Michaels. The older butler stood stiffly in his dark coat, iron-gray hair smoothed with care despite the early hour, his pale eyes unreadable.

“Are they safe?” Julius demanded, voice rougher than he intended.

Michaels shut his eyes briefly, exhaling as though the question pained him. Then he gave a slow, solemn nod.

Relief flooded Julius, sending a tremor through his shoulders. He stepped forward without ceremony and patted the retainer’s solid shoulder. The scent of beeswax polish and old oak drifted in from the dim hall behind them.

“Good man.” His tone softened. He had not forgotten Michaels’s courage when the baroness had been attacked nearly a month earlier. The butler had taken a life to protect her, a sacrifice Julius respected deeply.

“Where are they?”

Michaels gestured silently toward the grand staircase, broad and carpeted in rich green wool, then stepped aside with dignified haughtiness to let Julius pass.

Julius mounted the stairs two at a time, boots thudding on the runner. Under normal circumstances, he would have slowed, arranged his features into a bored, idle mask. But he had no patience for pretense today.

He swept into the large drawing room without knocking. Sunlight filtered weakly through tall sash windows draped in heavy brocade, casting pale squares of light on polished parquet floors.

Brendan and the baroness sat on a settee under the central window, the pale upholstery contrasting sharply with Brendan’s dark riding coat.

“Ridley!”

Brendan surged to his feet, chestnut curls in chaotic disarray, his drawn face creased with worry.

As Julius approached, he noted the baroness’s face—pale, pinched, the color leached from her cheeks as though she had seen a ghost.

“What happened?”

Brendan raked both hands through his hair, further tangling it. His voice was ragged. “Lily was in … We had another attempt to breach Ridley House.”

Lady Lily Ridley, petite as a fairy with shining chocolate-brown hair escaping its careful pins, lifted her gaze to Julius. Her enormous eyes were glassy, fixed on him with fragile defiance despite the terror still lurking in their depths.

“I … visited the library this morning to fetch a book before breakfast, while it was still rather gloomy outside. I was in there for several minutes before I felt a draught in the room. When I looked over to the window, I saw a ruffian climbing in and screamed for help.”

Julius clenched his teeth as fury spiked through him. Her voice was hoarse, rasping with strain. She must have screamed with real terror. A pang shot through him at the image of the brave little bride, the woman who had risked her reputation to save his dearest friend from the noose, forced to shriek for her life.

If anything happened to her … The thought roiled his gut. Julius prided himself on keeping emotional entanglements at bay, but the baroness had carved out a space in his heart for her unshakable courage. She was an ally now. Someone under his personal protection, whether she liked it or not.

This continued campaign by that faceless killer to search Ridley House for damning evidence was intolerable. Utterly beyond the pale.

The baroness rose with regal composure despite her trembling, laying a small gloved hand gently over Julius’s own.

“Trafford, you must not concern yourself. I am fine. We are fine. Brendan and I have made arrangements to stay with his sister and the Duke of Halmesbury. They have ample staff and are hiring guards to protect Markham House. Please … do not worry.”