Outside the law. That concept, she could grasp. Justice had come for her outside the law once before, but that had been in a part of a wild country almost without laws. Perhaps England was not so different from Mexico or the high seas. A man’s secret sins could be repaid in secret.

Charley’s firm hand on hers transmitted courage. His muscled forearm filled her with strength. She questioned it, doubted it, searched it for falsehood, and could find none. Here was a rock, something certain, some strength that wouldn’t waver.

She blinked hard. For her to have found a safe harbor was itself a kind of retribution to the Kingsleys. And if she could take Papa’s money from their grasp...

The dress unfurled for her to view, muddied and smeared with another shade of brown. Charley’s eyes glittered but his lips did not move into a smile.

“Yes. It is mine.” It was the dress Mrs. Windle had removed from her. She had thought they would have burned it. “Where did you find it?”

“It was buried in the Kingsleys’ garden.” The magistrate’s shrewd eyes surveyed her.

“I did not bury it,” she said.

“I did not think you did.”

He would ask her who did. Or what happened. Or whose blood had soaked the dress. She ran through the possible stories. She would look like a liar, and then she would be unsupported. Perhaps her defense against Carvelle would land her in jail. She was not nobility. She had no protection.

A lie once told must be clung to, no matter the soul-sucking it caused.

Charley shifted her to his other side, his arm draped loosely around her. She found his touch did not sting.

“The blood is Gregory Carvelle’s,” she said. “Lord Kingsley sent his servants away and allowed him to access my bedchamber. I would not...”

“You defended your person,” the magistrate said. “Yes. We questioned all the servants. They had all been from home. His lordship had organized an evening outing for all of the staff.”

No. That was not right. “There was at least one maid on duty to lock me into my room.”

“I was given to understand by the butler and housekeeper that we spoke to everyone.”

“No. The maid is an elderly servant. She and her husband share a room above the stables, I had heard.” She’d seen Lady Kingsley abuse the woman quite harshly on several occasions. She supposed the woman had nowhere else to go.

He took down their names in a small notebook and tucked it away. “Forgive me for asking, Miss Kingsley, were you yourself injured in any way. I see a bruise here.” He touched his jaw.

“That is from Lord Kingsley before he used the cane on my back. Carvelle bruised me here.” She showed him her wrist.

“We have not been able to locate Gregory Carvelle as yet. Were his wounds—”

“Not fatal,” Charley said. “He visited McCollum’s bank this morning in the company of Lord Kingsley.”

“To steal as much of my money as they could get the banker to yield.”

Laughlin frowned. “I see.”

Charley told him about the attacks at the solicitor’s office and on the way back from the bank, but he made no mention of the fake ransom note.

Which pricked her suspicions.

Although, perhaps it was wise not to mention it. They need not complicate an official investigation any more than was needed for her to get her money. These men were Charley’s friends, yet she sensed his reluctance to tell them everything.

She understood that. He was a spy—secrets and lies came naturally to such as him.

She searched her heart and found it did not matter. She did not think he would betray the heart of a true allegiance, to, for example, his family, or honor, or someone he loved.

Could he ever love her? In spite of her words to him the night before, she did dream of having a love like her parents had.

She shook off the thought. No husband would want her after the wedding night.

The man they called Kincaid, roused himself. “If you’ll come with me, Laughlin, I’ll fill you in on where we have searched for Carvelle.”

Laughlin packaged up the dress and followed him out. Penderbrook went with them.

She opened her mouth to protest that she would like to know also, and said, “Where are they going?”

Charley leaned close. “I’ll tell you everything, but all it amounts to is the names of London inns where Carvelle might have been staying and the streets where he allegedly had lodgings. It’s basically of no use. His lair now will be one we’re unfamiliar with."

“Let us speak of the happy news, then,” Lady Sirena said. “Do share the details with Perry and me, James.”

Lord Bakeley smiled. “You and Perry and Paulette shall have a new sister. Charley and Miss Kingsley have become engaged.”

That brought a round of well-wishing and questioning, and planning on the part of the ladies.

“With a special license you can be married tomorrow, as we were,” Lady Sirena said.

She felt herself wobble. Charley’s hand slid to her waist and steadied her.

Lady Perry smiled. “And we can host another ball—”

“No balls,” Charley said.

His vehemence halted both ladies.

“You don’t mean to go to Scotland like Bink and Paulette?” Lady Perry asked.

“No flights to Scotland, either.” He squeezed her hip, sending a ripple of sensation through her, and released her. “Gracie is not of age. She’ll need her guardian’s permission to marry. That means we’ll have to wait for Father, and be damned discreet about getting a license if we don’t want Kingsley’s solicitors taking legal action to challenge us. Which means—”

“No official announcements.” Lord Bakeley said. “No articles planted in the scandal sheets. Can you trust the banker?”

A knock at the library door brought a footman and a whispered conversation with Lord Bakeley.

He closed the door and turned to them, eyes gleaming.

“Well?” his lady asked.

“Lord Kingsley is in the drawing room.”