“I’ll get your money,” Nat said, through his teeth. He kept a tight grip on his temper. He had hated Tom Fortune long before the man had started to blackmail him over Celeste’s indiscretions. He hated Tom for the utter lack of care he had for Lizzie, for his dishonorable treatment of Lydia Cole and the fact that he was an all-round cad. He looked around to see if anyone had overheard Tom’s mocking words. He knew Lizzie’s brother could hardly be relied on for his discretion. If he spoke out, Celeste would be completely ruined.

“Don’t see how you’ll get my money now that Flora Minchin has thrown you over,” Tom sneered. “Keep away from Mary Wheeler. I have a fancy to wed there myself, though she is probably as frigid as a corpse. But you-” He prodded Nat’s chest, “You come up with the goods or Lady Celeste’s name will be bandied around through all the coffee shops in England. Men would pay good money to see what I saw. Perhaps they would offer her a job in a whorehouse if your father threw her out-”

Nat repressed a furious urge to hit him. He knew that Tom cared for nothing beyond money and now that he was squire of Fortune’s Folly he would be bound to extort all the taxes Sir Montague had charged and more. He would need it, Nat thought, to pay his drinking and gambling bills. And a little extra blackmail, holding the honor of the Dukes of Waterhouse in his hands, was an absolute gift to him.

“Give me one more month,” he said. He abhorred giving in to extortion, but with Celeste’s reputation at stake and no way out he knew he was trapped.

Tom laughed. “Two weeks,” he said. “I’ll give you two weeks, seeing as you are begging me. And then-” He laughed again. “I’ll go to your father and tell him all about his precious daughter and her sexual proclivities.” He put his head on one side. “That could be to your advantage, now I come to think of it. The news might kill the old man and then you’d be Duke of Waterhouse-”

Whatever else he had been about to say was lost as Nat’s fist made contact with his jaw and he fell over backward into the ordure from the stables. Josie and Lenny and half the occupants of the taproom, whom Nat was appalled to see had come out into the yard to watch the altercation, burst into a spontaneous round of applause.

“Nice one, Lord W,” Josie said. She lowered her voice. “Can’t pretend I didn’t hear about your sister, though. I’d kill him, if I was you. Never give in to blackmailers. That’s my motto. Kill ’em instead.” She slapped him on the shoulder in a blow Nat assumed was intended as encouragement and helped Lenny haul Tom back to his feet.

“You’re barred from Half Moon House,” she hissed to Tom. “I hope they convict you of your brother’s murder. I don’t care if you did it or not.”

Nat was of a similar mind himself. He was so blinded with impotent fury that it seemed the greatest pity to him in that moment that they had not been able to pin a single crime on Tom Fortune and rid the world of him, justice or no justice.

“Present yourself to the magistrate tomorrow morning or we’ll come looking for you,” he said to Tom, who now smelled of dung along with the drink and smoke. He ducked out of the way just in time as Tom tried to spit in his face.

From the Half Moon Inn Nat went to seek out Miles Vickery to report Tom’s whereabouts. As he rode he thought about what Tom had said.

“I’ll go to your father. She’s a strumpet, Lady Celeste, and the world deserves to know her perversions…”

Celeste had always been so gentle and frail. Nat still did not know what terrible error of judgment had put his younger sister in Tom Fortune’s power, for when he had tried to ask her about it she had broken down and he had feared for her sanity. He had known then that he had no choice other than to agree to Tom’s extortion, for it was unthinkable for the truth about Celeste to be revealed. Not only would it ruin her, but the scandal would almost certainly kill his father, who was old and infirm, and would devastate his mother. His entire family would be destroyed because of Tom Fortune’s greed. The only other alternative was to kill the man and Nat was very, very tempted. Tom Fortune was vermin, a blight on mankind. If it were not for Lizzie, Nat would have been even closer to murdering him, but he knew that for Lizzie’s sake he could never do it. She had the same desperate regard for Tom as she had had for Monty, an affection that was immune to sense or reason, a desperate need for family. Nat’s heart ached for Lizzie that she so longed to have about her a family she could love when all she was left with was Tom, who was an utter bastard, and a distant cousin who did not give a rush for her. It seemed monstrous unfair.

As it was, Lizzie was the one who would rescue them all. She did not know it, but she would save him and Celeste and his family. Nat’s only hope now was to marry her. Lizzie’s money would buy Tom’s silence. There was some irony in that, Nat thought. But Lizzie must never, ever know about Tom’s blackmail. Nat knew he had to protect her from this latest proof of Tom’s villainy. Monty’s death had hurt her profoundly. To show that her other brother was even more of a criminal than she suspected would devastate and disillusion her.

Nat rode into the stable yard of Drum Castle, left his horse with the groom and sought Miles out in his study. Although Miles was no longer Marquis of Drummond now that his errant cousin had been found still to be alive, he and Alice had taken a lease on the castle in order to stay in Yorkshire.

When Nat went into the study, Miles and Alice were standing in the window together and talking, their heads bent close, their voices low and intimate. Nat hesitated a moment on the threshold, because they looked so loving that he felt like an interloper and did not wish to interrupt them. But then Miles looked up and invited him in. Nat stepped forward into the room and noted wryly that Alice’s blue gaze was flinty and less than welcoming as it rested on him. He knew she was thinking of Lizzie.

“Lord Waterhouse.” Alice’s tone was almost as cold as the look in her eyes. She looked from Nat to Miles. “I will leave you to talk business,” she said.

“Lady Vickery,” Nat said. “Please…” Alice paused and Nat pressed his advantage. “You know that I wish to marry Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “If you have any influence with her…”

He thought Alice almost smiled. “You know as well as I do that no one can influence Lizzie once she has set her mind to a thing,” Alice said. Her voice softened. “I wish you good luck, though.”

She went out and Miles gestured Nat to a seat beside the fireplace. There was a fine carved wooden chess set on the games table between the two fireside chairs. The room was warm and smelled of beeswax and flowers. It felt like a home, Nat thought, remembering the cold emptiness of Drum before Alice had married Miles. Alice had wrought that change in the castle, and an enormous change in Miles, too. Marriage, Nat supposed, could be like that but it was a far cry from both the cold distance of the arrangement he had contemplated with Flora and the fiery quarreling he was already anticipating with Lizzie.

“I found Tom,” Nat said, without preamble. “I’ve told him to report to the magistrate and to you and Dexter in the morning. He’s too drunk to talk sensibly now.” He sighed. “Not that he is likely to be much more sober on the morrow.”

“Do you think he murdered his brother?” Miles asked.

“No,” Nat said. “Unfortunately not.”

“He had a strong motive,” Miles pointed out. “The baronetcy, the prospect of wealth under the Dames’ Tax. Everyone knows that Monty kept Tom on a tight allowance and Tom hated him for it.”

“Too many people had a motive to kill Sir Montague,” Nat said, shrugging, “though I will allow that Tom’s is one of the best. I imagine,” he added, “that he will be able to claim he was with someone last night.”

“A woman,” Miles said, nodding.

“Or several,” Nat said, ironically. He sighed. “Lady Elizabeth’s motive is less strong.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Miles said, laughing. “In point of fact she was better off with Sir Montague alive.”

“Quite.” Nat shifted. “ Miles, I have a problem. You know that Lizzie is only twenty and therefore requires her guardian’s permission to wed?”

Miles nodded. “And her legal guardian is now Tom Fortune.”

“Precisely,” Nat said. “Tom will never give his consent, because he would thereby lose out on claiming half of Lizzie’s fortune under the Dames’ Tax. In two months’ time he can take her twenty-five thousand pounds.”

Miles grimaced. “I see your problem.”

“What can be done?”

“You could elope with her to Gretna,” Miles said, “or apply for a special licence and swear on oath that the guardian had given his consent, knowing full well that he had not.”

“I would have to perjure myself,” Nat said, nodding.

“Effectively, yes.” Miles moved a chess piece idly. “Or, if the guardian was clearly a man-or woman-of dubious moral stature, you might find another reputable family member who could give their consent.” He shot his friend a look. “In Lizzie’s case we know that her guardian is a blackguard, but she also has an irreproachably respectable third cousin in the current Earl of Scarlet.”

“A man who has taken not the slightest interest in her welfare since he inherited from her father,” Nat said a little grimly.

“He would take an interest soon enough if he heard his cousin would one day be Duchess of Waterhouse,” Miles said, “and he would, I am sure, do all in his power to assist the match.”

Nat smiled reluctantly. “You are so cynical, old chap.”

“But also so very correct,” Miles drawled. “Scarlet Park is less than a half day’s ride to the west of here,” he added. “It would be a simple matter to sound Gregory Scarlet out.”