“Thank heavens,” Kit said. She looked at the men, still standing in a loose gathering in the center of the room.

“Now! We need to move quickly on this. The damage has to be contained—better yet, turned around.”

Jack and Tristan strolled forward.

Tristan shrugged. “I don’t know that it’s all that serious.” He glanced at the other men. “I can’t see that A. C. is likely to gain much from this—”

“Not your investigation!” Leonora glared at him. “That isn’t what we’re concerned about.”

Tristan blinked at her. “What, then?”

“Why the potential social disaster, of course!”

They were right—that was the most urgent threat arising from Sprigs’s visit; this time, Bow Street had come calling in daylight, and there’d been considerable activity visible from the street. Luckily, their counterstrategy was easy to devise and quickly set in train. Aside from Alicia and Adriana, there were seven of them in the room; each had multiple contacts among the grandes dames, contacts they normally avoided, yet contacts who, in this instance, once they were apprised of the situation, were very ready to come to their collective aid.

By the time that evening’s entertainments commenced, all was in place, the cannons primed.

Tony, accompanied by Geoffrey, made privy to the latest developments, escorted the ravishing Mrs. Carrington and her even more ravishing sister to a formal dinner, followed by three major balls.

They’d barely entered the first ballroom, Lady Selwyn’s, when he overheard his godmother spreading the word.

“It is quite beyond the pale!” Lady Amery’s tones were hushed yet outraged. “This secretive gentleman seeks to manipulate us, those of the haut ton, with rumors and sly tricks, to make us turn on Mrs. Carrington and drive her from town so that her fleeing our wrath will appear an admission of guilt, and so confuse the authorities and hide his infamous deeds.”

Lady Amery twitched her shawl straight, both the action and her expression indicating absolute disgust. “It is beyond anything that a gentleman should seek to use us thus.”

Wide-eyed, the Countess of Hereford had been drinking in her eloquence. “So none of the rumors is true?”

“Pshaw!” Lady Amery flicked her fingers. “Nothing more than artful lies. The reason he has focused on Mrs. Carrington is purely because she had the ill fortune to be the last person poor Ruskin spoke with before going to his death—at this very man’s hands, no less! She was attending a soirée—I ask you, what is one supposed to do at a soirée if not talk to other guests? But now the devil seeks to deceive and deflect the authorities, and to use us to accomplish his evil ends.”

“How diabolical!” The countess looked shocked.

“Indeed.” Lady Amery nodded significantly. “You can see why we—those of us who know the truth—must be vigilant in ensuring these lies are quashed.”

“Unquestionably.” Transparently horrified, Lady Hereford laid a hand on Lady Amery’s arm. “Why, if the ton could be used so easily as an instrument of harm…”

Her thoughts were easy to follow: no one would be safe.

Lifting her head, the countess patted Lady Amery’s arm. “You may rest assured, Felicité, that I’ll correct any idle talk I hear.” She gathered her skirts. “Poor Mrs. Carrington—she must be quite prostrate.”

Lady Amery waved. “As to that, she is one of us and knows how to behave—she will be here this evening, I make no doubt, and with her head high.”

“I sincerely wish her well.” Lady Hereford stood. “And will do all I can to aid her and bring this dastardly plot to nought.”

With a regal nod, which Lady Amery graciously returned, Lady Hereford stepped into the crowd.

From where he’d halted, two paces behind the chaise where his godmother sat, Tony moved quickly forward, drawing Alicia, another fascinated observer, with him. Courtesy of the dense crowd, neither recent occupant of the chaise had noticed them. Now he rounded the chaise and bowed to his godmother, then bent and kissed her cheek.

“You were superb,” he murmured as he straightened.

Lady Amery humphed. “It’s hardly difficult to act outraged when I am.” She held out her hands to Alicia, and when she took them drew her down to the chaise. “But you, chérie—I vow it is unconscionable.” She looked at Tony. “You will find him soon, yes? And then this nonsense will be over.”

“There’s a crew of us pursuing him—we’ll unmask him, never fear.”

“Bon!” Lady Amery turned to Alicia. “And now you must tell me how that lovely sister of yours is faring. Has Geoffrey Manningham truly turned her head?”

Standing beside the chaise, Tony scanned the company. A number of senior hostesses had nodded pointedly their way, their acknowledgment marked and openly so. Others less prominent had stopped by to assure Alicia of their support. The tide was already turning.

He saw Leonora and Tristan arrive, and promptly start circulating. Deeming Lady Selwyn’s event well covered, he summoned Geoffrey and Adriana with a glance, and they moved on through the crowded streets to the next major event.

The Countess of Gosford’s ball was in full swing by the time they arrived. There, they met more hostesses, more grandes dames, all supportive. Lady Osbaldestone summoned them with an imperious wave of her cane; she gave them to understand that she hadn’t had so much fun in years, and fully intended to make “the blackguard’s” attempt to use the ton against Alicia a cause célèbre.

“A judgment of sorts on our malicious ways—we’d be fools not to see it.” Her black eyes locked on the golden green of Alicia’s, she nodded curtly. “So you needn’t think to thank us—any of us. Do us the world of good to realize we’ve created a system so amenable to such dastardly manipulation. Help keep us honest.” She grimaced.

“Well, more honest.”

Switching to Tony, she fixed him with a basilisk gaze. “And how long do you expect to take to lay this villain by the heels?”

“We’re doing all we can—some things take time.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just as long as you don’t at the last seek to sweep this blackguard’s name under any rug.” Her expression was a warning. “Rest assured we—none of us—will stand for that.”

Tony smiled urbanely. “Rest assured,” he returned, “no matter who else might think otherwise, I won’t be a party to protecting him.”

His answer gave Lady Osbaldestone pause; she searched his face, then humphed, apparently appeased. “Very good. You may now take yourselves off. Indeed, I suggest a waltz—that ought to be one starting up now. Last thing you want to appear is too concerned to enjoy yourselves.”

Tony bowed; Alicia curtsied, and he led her away. To the dance floor.

She went into his arms readily. After three revolutions, his hand tightened on her back. She dutifully shifted her attention to his face.

“What is it?” There was a frown behind his eyes.

She smiled—more easily than she’d ever imagined she would be able to in such circumstances. “I just… find it all a trifle unreal. I’ve been transported Cinderella-like to an unimagined place. I never expected so many would so readily give me their support.” She blushed lightly. “For all that it’s you, and Kit and Leonora and the others asking the favor, it’s me they have to agree to back.”

His smile was slow, genuine and warming. “You take too little credit to yourself.” He looked up as they swept into the turn. “Consider this.” He drew her closer, bent his head so his words fell by her ear. “You’ve made few, if any, enemies—you and Adriana have been openly friendly, you’ve made many real friends over the last weeks. You’ve been pleasant companions; you’ve not sought to cut others out, nor to blacken anyone else’s name. You’ve not lent your standing to any less-than-admirable social thrust; you’ve avoided all scandal.”

He caught her eye as they whirled out of the tight turn. Lips curving, he raised a brow. “Indeed, you’re the epitome of a lady of whom society is pleased to approve— one of those the grandes dames delight in holding up as an example to others less adept, living proof of the type of lady they are happy to acknowledge.”

Except she wasn’t. She returned his smile lightly and looked over his shoulder as if accepting his description. Inside, the small kernel of disquiet that had been with her for weeks—ever since he’d first singled her out in some long-ago ballroom—grew, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it, not then.

After the waltz, she and Tony strolled the ballroom, eventually rejoining Geoffrey and Adriana; together, they left for their last port of call.

The Marchioness of Huntly was one of the ton’s foremost hostesses. When they arrived, Huntly House was ablaze with lights. A theme of white and gilt was repeated throughout the imposing reception rooms; the ballroom was festooned with white silk sprinkled with gilt stars and looped back with gold cords. The light from three brilliant chandeliers winked and glinted in the jewels circling ladies’ throats and encrusting the combs in their coiffures.

Born a Cynster, Lady Huntly had been watching for them; she swept forward to greet them, and strolled down the ballroom chatting amiably, then handed them into her sister-in-law’s care.

The Duchess of St. Ives positively glowed with social zeal. She smiled brilliantly at Alicia. “He is defeated, you see.” Irrepressibly French, she gestured about them. “Oh, it may take a day or so more to complete what we have begun, but there will be no repercussions. He will not succeed in using us in so cowardly a way to attack you, and thus hide his own infamy.”