Tony lifted the folded note from the salver. “Thank you.”

Flicking it open, he rapidly scanned the contents, then glanced at the butler. “Please summon my carriage immediately.”

The butler bowed. “Of course, my lord.” He withdrew.

Tony opened the note again, held it so Geoffrey, looking over his shoulder, could read it, too.

The writing was a feminine scrawl, the hand holding the pen clearly agitated. Adriana had been too overset even to bother with any salutation.

My lord, I don’t know who else might help us and Maggs assures me this is the right thing to do. Just as we were about to set out for the Carmichaels’, officers from the Watch arrived, along with a Bow Street Runner. They’ve taken Alicia away.

The writing broke off; a blob of ink was smeared across the page. Then Adriana continued: Please help! We don’t know what to do.

She’d signed it simply Adriana.

Geoffrey swore. “What the devil’s going on?”

Tony stuffed the note into his pocket. “I’ve no idea.” He glanced at Geoffrey. “Coming?”

Geoffrey sent him a grim look. “As if you need ask.”

They went quickly down the stairs and reached the portico just as Tony’s town carriage rattled up.

Tony reached for the door, opened it, and waved Geoffrey in. “Waverton Street! As fast as you can.” With that, he followed Geoffrey, slamming the door behind him.

His coachman took him at his word. They rocketed along the streets, swinging about corners at a criminal pace. In five minutes, the coach was slowing; it lurched to a halt outside Alicia’s front door.

Tony and Geoffrey were on the pavement before the carriage stopped rocking. Maggs opened the front door to Tony’s peremptory knock.

“What’s going on?” Tony shot at him.

“Buggered if I know,” Maggs growled back. “Strangest bit of work I’ve ever seen. Nice thing it is when a lady getting ready to go to a ball is set on in her own front hall. What’s the world coming to, I ask you?”

“Indeed. Where’s Adriana—and do the boys know about this?”

“They’re all in the parlor. Couldn’t keep the boys from hearing—there was a right to-do. Mrs. Carrington gave the blighters what for, but they weren’t about to go away, nor yet let her go out and wait until later. I’m thinking she went with them just to get them out of the house, what with the boys and Miss Adriana being so upset.”

Tony’s face hardened. He led the way to the parlor. The instant he opened the door, four pairs of eyes fixed on him.

A second later, Matthew flung himself at him, arms clutching limpetlike about his waist. “You’ll get her back, won’t you?”

The words, not entirely steady, were muffled by Tony’s coat.

David and Harry were only steps behind. Harry caught Tony’s arm and simply clung, the same question in his upturned face. David, older, tugged at Tony’s sleeve. When Tony looked at him, he swallowed and met his gaze. “They’ve made some mistake. Alicia would never do anything wrong.”

Tony smiled. “Of course not.” Putting a hand on Matthew’s head, he tousled his soft hair; laying an arm around Harry’s shoulders, he hugged him, then urged the trio back into the room. “I’ll go straightaway and bring her back. But first…”

One glance at Adriana’s white face told him she was as upset as her brothers, but having to comfort the boys and contain their panic had forced her to master her own. Despite the shock, despite the way her fingers clutched and twisted, she was lucid, not hysterical.

Her eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them. “They said they were taking her to the local Watch House.”

“South of Curzon Street, it is,” Maggs put in.

Tony nodded. Urging the boys ahead of him, he made his way deeper into the room. Geoffrey followed on his heels. While Tony sat in the armchair, the boys scrambling to perch close on the padded arms, Geoffrey sat beside Adriana. He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She smiled weakly, rather wanly, at him.

“Now,” Tony commanded, “tell me exactly what happened.”

Adriana and the boys all started talking at once; he held up his hand. “Adriana first—listen carefully so you can tell me anything she forgets.”

The boys dutifully settled to listen; Adriana drew a deep breath, then, her voice only occasionally quavering, she described how, just as she and Alicia were about to leave for the ball, a heavy knock on the door had heralded the Watch, accompanied by a Bow Street Runner.

“There were two from the Watch, and the Runner. He was the one in charge. They insisted Alicia had—” She broke off, then dragged in a breath and continued, “That she had killed Ruskin. Stabbed him to death. It was ludicrous!”

“I presume she told them they were fools?”

“Not in those precise words, but of course she denied it.”

“The men wouldn’t believe her,” Matthew said.

Tony smiled at him. “Fools, as I said.”

Matthew nodded and settled back against Tony’s shoulder.

Tony looked at Adriana. She continued, “We tried to reason with them—Alicia even used your name. She told them you were investigating the matter, but they wouldn’t even wait while we sent for you. They were totally certain—absolutely—that Alicia was a…a murderess!”

Eyes huge, Adriana looked at him imploringly. “They were very rough men—they won’t hurt her, will they?”

Tony bit back a curse, exchanged a swift glance with Geoffrey, and stood. “I’ll go there now—I’ll bring her back straightaway. Geoffrey will stay and keep you company. If I’m an hour or so, don’t worry.” Resettling his sleeves, he flashed the boys a reassuring smile. “I’ll need to have a word with this Bow Street Runner, and make sure the gentlemen of the Watch don’t make such a silly mistake again.”

Five minutes later, he strode up the steps of the Watch House. Two stalwart members of the Watch were heading out on their rounds; they glanced at him—and rapidly got out of his way.

Tony’s heels struck the tiles of the foyer; glancing swiftly around, he fixed his gaze on the supervisor behind the narrow desk, who was already eyeing him with increasing unease. This Watch House was situated on the edge of Mayfair; the hapless supervisor would know Trouble when he saw it. His expression as he hurriedly got to his feet suggested he recognized it bearing down on him now.

“Can I help you, sir—m’lord?”

I believe you have something of mine.

Tony bit back the words, reined in his temper, and quite softly said, “I believe there’s been a mistake.”

The sergeant paled. “A mistake, m’lord?”

“Indeed.” Tony drew out his card case, withdrew a card and flipped it on the desk. “I’m Lord Torrington, and according to Whitehall I’m in charge of the investigation into the murder of William Ruskin, lately of the Office of Customs and Revenue. I understand two of your men in company with a Bow Street Runner visited a private residence in Waverton Street an hour ago and removed, by force, a lady—Mrs. Alicia Carrington. The taradiddle I’ve been told—no doubt you and your men can explain it—is that Mrs. Carrington is accused of having stabbed Ruskin to death.”

At no point did he raise his voice; he’d long ago learned the knack of making subordinates quake with a quiet and steely tone.

With his gaze, he pinned the supervisor, who was now holding on to his desk as if he needed its support. “I should perhaps mention that it was I who discovered Ruskin’s body. In the circumstances, I would like an explanation and I would like it now, but first, before all else, you will release Mrs. Carrington into my care.” He smiled, and the supervisor visibly quailed. “I do hope you’ve taken exceptionally good care of her.”

The man could barely draw breath. He bowed, bobbed. “Indeed, m’lord—she did mention…we’ve put the lady in the magistrate’s office.” He hurried around the desk, almost stumbling in his haste to conduct Tony thither. “I’ll just show you, then I’ll get ahold of Smiggins—he’s the Runner, m’lord. We was acting under his orders.”

“Very well.” Tony followed the bobbing supervisor.

“What’s your name?”

“Elcott, sir—m’lord, begging your pardon.” Elcott stopped outside a door, and gestured. “The lady’s in here, m’lord”

“Thank you. Please send Smiggins here immediately. I wish to attend to this business and remove Mrs. Carrington as soon as possible. This is no place for a lady.”

Elcott kept bobbing. “Indeed, m’lord. Immediately, m’lord.”

With a curt nod, Tony dismissed him. Opening the door, he walked in.

Alicia was standing by the window, dressed in all her finery for the ball. She swung around as he entered; the pinched look in her face dissolved as she recognized him. “Thank God!”

She didn’t exactly fly to him, but she crossed the room quickly, her hands rising; shutting the door, he grasped them, and pulled her into his arms.

He held her tight, his cheek against her hair. “I came as soon as I could. You needn’t worry about Adriana and the boys—they know I’m here, and Geoffrey’s with them.”

A large part of her tension dissipated; she looked up, pushing back to look into his face. “Thank you. I didn’t know what to do—and I’ve no idea what’s going on. For some reason they think I stabbed Ruskin.”

“I know.” Tony heard footsteps approaching. Reluctantly releasing her, he urged her to the chair behind the desk. “Sit down—try not to say anything. Just listen and watch.”

A hesitant tap sounded on the door.

Resuming his previous, grim expression, he took up a stance beside Alicia’s chair. “Come.”

The door opened; a heavily built man in the distinctive red coat of a Bow Street Runner looked around the edge. He saw Tony; his eyes widened. He cleared his throat. “Smiggins, m’lord. You sent for me?”