It was too early for making calls on members of polite society, but Lincoln didn't care for propriety, and our visit to Harcourt House in Mayfair wasn't a social call. We found ourselves having to wait in the drawing room, however, while Millard, the butler, fetched his mistress. It gave me time to admire her exquisite taste in furnishings, although it was spoiled by the memory of Marguerite Buchanan's brother shooting himself in this very room several months ago.

Lady Harcourt swanned in fifteen minutes later with her hair unbound. The glossy black locks fell to the middle of her back in waves that didn't bounce in the slightest as she glided across the floor. Her dancer's training served her well in her latest role as a noblewoman, although she would have given anything for it to have remained a secret.

"So early!" she declared, sinking onto a chair. "You will recall that I don't like to rise before nine, Lincoln, and take my breakfast in bed."

Despite steeling myself for this meeting, I was still shocked by her crassness. What sort of woman spoke to a gentleman like that in front of his fiancée? Not a kind one, that was certain. I hoped I managed to school my features and not show my feelings. I didn't want to give her the victory.

"This business couldn't wait," Lincoln said.

"Do sit down." When neither of us did, she added, "I know we haven't got along well of late, but I hope that will change now. We three are getting what we want after all. You two want each other, and I am marrying Sir Ignatius."

"And Swinburn," Lincoln said before I could. "He also got what he wanted."

She smiled. "Thank you, he did. I'm a fine choice for him, if I do say so myself."

I managed to turn my choke into a cough without making it too obvious.

Or so I thought. Lady Harcourt's gaze turned flinty. "Is there something you wish to say, Charlotte? Do you think me a poor choice of wife?"

"I think you and Swinburn deserve one another," I said.

"Sir Ignatius," she corrected me. "His origins are humble, but—"

"So are yours."

She sniffed. "What do you want, Lincoln?"

"To tell you that your membership of the committee has been revoked," he said.

She shot to her feet, all pretense of elegance gone. "You can't do that!"

"I've sent letters to Lords Marchbank and Gillingham requesting their presence at a meeting at Lichfield this afternoon. I'll inform them then. This is just a courtesy call to inform you. Considering your service to the committee in the past, I didn't think a letter appropriate."

She gasped as if she couldn't quite catch her breath, and pressed a hand to her stomach. "I told you yesterday that my relationship with Ignatius wouldn't affect my loyalty to the ministry."

"You told him who my father is."

A slight pause, then, "I did not."

"Don't lie to me. You know I can detect them."

She fell back a step, her chest heaving with her breaths. "I can't believe he told you," she whispered. "I can't believe he'd betray me like that."

It was confirmation from her own lips that the secret had come from her, not the prince or duke. Whether Lincoln could indeed detect her lie didn't matter. He'd forced a confession.

"You breached the trust bestowed on you, Julia," Lincoln said. "You gave me no choice but to remove you from the committee."

She spluttered a laugh but it quickly faded. "You can't."

"I can."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No! Don't do this. Don't remove me from the committee. It won't happen again."

"You can no longer be trusted to keep ministry secrets."

"No!"

Lincoln said nothing.

"How dare you!" She flew at him and went to grasp his shoulders, or perhaps hit him, but he caught her wrists and held her at bay. She tried to pull free, her teeth gritted, her jaw hard. Her hair fell across her face, over her shoulders, the strands tangling in her struggle to free herself.

I'd seen her wild, mad side before, but I hadn't expected it today over this. I'd expected her to argue and fight with words, not fists. Had being on the committee meant so much to her?

"Calm yourself," Lincoln intoned.

"Why does everyone betray me?" she growled, her voice low, masculine. "You, Andrew, Ignatius and now this! You men," she spat.

"Stop fighting me or I won't let you go."

She tried to kick him, but her skirts hindered her and Lincoln easily dodged it. She sobbed in frustration but seemed to lose much of her fight. "Don't do this, Lincoln!" she whined. "Don't cut me out of the ministry, out of your life."

His life? So that's what her tantrum was about? She was still clinging to the hope of being friends with Lincoln again? Or even his lover?

Lincoln blinked at her, the only sign that her words had surprised him too. "You thought I wouldn't find out that you'd told him?" he said quietly. "You know me better than that, Julia. I know everything about you. I know who you talk to, who you dine with, who you take to your bed. I know which are your favored servants, and how much money you spend, and the contents of your late husband's will. I know what your plans are before you plan them, and I know what you're thinking before you think it, because I know you."

She stared up at him, her eyes huge, deep pools. He let her go and she took two steps back, bringing her close to me.

"You thought you could betray me like this and not suffer the consequences?" Lincoln went on in that same quiet voice that held more power, more command, than a shout.

She straightened and thrust out her chin, every inch the noblewoman again. "I had to do it. He threatened me."

"No, he didn't. I'll say it again, don't lie to me."

She swallowed.

"You did it so he would marry you," I said. "He promised marriage in exchange for information about Lincoln. What else did you—?"

She swung around, her hand out to strike me across the face. It was so quick, yet I saw it coming from the moment her body began to twist. That small sign allowed me to block her blow with my right forearm and slap her face with my left hand.

She reeled back and would have fallen if Lincoln hadn't caught her. He righted her but didn't let go. She made odd gasping sounds that were almost sobs yet she shed no tears. A red mark marred one of her cheeks while the rest of her face was bloodless.

"Get out," she snarled. "Get out of my house."

Gladly. I went to leave but Lincoln remained. "You must send me a letter officially handing over your committee membership to your heir. If it hasn't been received by the end of the week, I'll just give the position to Seth anyway."

We exited the townhouse and Lincoln assisted me into our waiting coach. He directed the coachman to drive us to Lord Gillingham's house.

"How's your hand?" Lincoln asked as we settled in the cabin.

"Fine. It would have stung if I hadn't been wearing gloves." Now that it was over, I was glad I hadn't broken the skin on her cheek, although I suspected she may sport a bruise. "You didn't even move when she went to hit me. You're not as quick as you used to be," I teased.

"I knew you could stop her without my help."

"How could you know that?"

"Because I've seen the improvement in your training. Your reflexes are exceptional, and they were already very good. Next time, hit with a closed fist not an open hand. Although perhaps save that for a fight with a man."

"You think I can beat a man in a fight?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you would like to see me try against someone other than Seth or Gus?"

His brow crashed together. "No. I would not."

"Come now, Lincoln, admit it. You're curious. I've been training for a year now, and I’ve been involved in very little real fighting. You must be wondering if it has helped or if you're wasting your time."

"It hasn't been a waste of time. You have some skills that will help you if you're attacked. I don't regret that at all."

I switched seats to sit next to him. He narrowed his gaze as if he expected me to ravish him. "Don't worry," I said. "I only wish to hold your hand."

He took my hand in his own and brought it to his lips. He kissed my glove. "In all seriousness, Charlie, are you all right?"

"My nerves are settling." I indicated our linked hands and moved as close to him as I could get without sitting on his lap. "What do you think will happen now?"

"Usually a deceased committee member officially notifies us of his or her heir via their will, but since she's living, she needs to confirm Seth as her successor in writing."

"I meant with her and Swinburn."

He merely shrugged, but I suspected he had an answer.

"I think she'll confront him over his betrayal," I said. "They'll probably argue."

"She won't mention it." I knew he had an answer, it only required some encouragement to extract it from him. "Nor will she tell him she's off the committee until after the wedding, otherwise he'll break the engagement. She desperately wants to marry again to secure her future while she's still young, and Swinburn is the best man on offer right now. No other gentleman wants her as a wife. And he only wants her as long as she can pass on sensitive ministry information."

"I see," I said quietly. "You did say you know her so well that you know what she's thinking."

He frowned. "Does that bother you?"

"No. Yes. I don't know."

He touched my chin and gently forced me to look at him. His gaze searched mine. "I cannot change my past."

"I wouldn't want you to."

He didn't look as if he believed me.

"I don't," I said again. "What's done is done."

"Don't let her come between us, Charlie."

I kissed him lightly on the lips. "I won't. I know she's not a part of your life anymore."

"Not part of my life or my thoughts. And now we'll see even less of her."

I leaned my head against his shoulder, but not for long. Lord and Lady Gillingham lived only a few streets from Lady Harcourt and the coach already slowed.

Lord Gillingham was not at home, but Harriet was pleased to see us. As always, she welcomed us enthusiastically. How this vivacious young woman had ever come to like a toad such as Gillingham was beyond me. Their marriage had been arranged when she was just a girl. At twenty years her senior, and a nasty, self-important man at that, she had every reason to hate him. Yet she didn't. Instead, she enjoyed marriage now that she'd leveraged her shape changing abilities and shifted the balance of power in her favor. Now she appeared to rule him. It probably helped that she was carrying his child.

"We're sorry for calling at such an early hour," I said.

She waved a hand. "You just missed Gilly. He has gone to see a man about horses."

"It's not him we wish to see," Lincoln said. "Although if you could pass on a message, I would be grateful." He asked her to tell her husband to come to Lichfield for a committee meeting at three.

"Is something the matter?" she asked, directing us to sit on the sofa in the drawing room. "Why the urgency?"

"Yesterday's papers reported another mauling death."

"I don't read the newspapers." She pulled a face. "They're always filled with such ghastly things. Another mauling you say? By a werewolf?"

"I cannot say without seeing the victim's injuries."

"But it's likely," I told her. "How many wild dogs are there in London's East End?"

"You'd be surprised," Harriet said. "I've seen some poor starved animals attack out of sheer hunger."

"But why attack a man? Why not another dog or a rat, something easier to kill and eat?"

"I see your point." She pressed a hand to her stomach. It was not as flat as I expected. At three months along in her pregnancy, I thought she wouldn't be showing much yet, but clearly that wasn't the case. Perhaps she'd got her dates wrong.

"Do you still run with Gawler's pack considering…?" Lincoln indicated her swollen belly.

"Not run, no, but I do visit them. As much as I adore my Gilly, I do want to speak with people who understand me. They're my friends now. I'm looking forward to running with them again after the baby's born."

"You won't switch allegiance to Sir Ignatius Swinburn's pack?" I asked, genuinely curious. Harriet was a countess who'd led a very sheltered life. She seemed more suited to Swinburn's shifters than Gawler's, and yet she'd not shown signs of wanting to run with people more like herself.

"Of course not. One does not merely change one's allegiance as one would an outfit. I belong to Gawler's pack and that is that. I have no intention of following Sir Ignatius, particularly after he and his friends showed their true colors. I don't associate with murderers."

I wondered how much of her allegiance stemmed from her dislike of those with humble beginnings who'd risen high thanks to their money. She could be quite the snob when she wanted to be.

"Did you see anyone from your pack yesterday?" Lincoln asked.

She shook her head. "Surely you don't think one of them attacked the victim. Come now, Lincoln, you're not being fair. The last attack was orchestrated by Lord Ballantine, a member of Sir Ignatius's pack. You must look there for a murderer, not to Mr. Gawler. They have a history of doing that sort of thing; we do not."

"This attack occurred in the East End."

She bristled. "So?"

"So Gawler's pack runs in the East End, and Swinburn's pack contains itself to the West End. That's the agreement they came to themselves."

"That doesn't mean Sir Ignatius would keep his word and stay out of the East End. He's a slippery upstart. I don't trust him, and you shouldn't either."

"If you could find out what you can from your pack mates, I would appreciate it."

"I will, but I can already assure you they're innocent. Gawler isn't a killer, and his pack do as he asks."

"And yet he's weak," Lincoln pressed. "He inherited the pack because King died, not because he won the leadership. Doesn't that make you question his worth? Surely there is talk of overthrowing him."

"Certainly not. No one mentions such a thing. We are quite happy with his leadership, thank you, and kindly do not imply otherwise. We're loyal to Mr. Gawler."

"Even you?"

"Yes!"

"A countess loyal to an itinerant laborer?"

Why was he challenging her like this? She was our friend, for goodness’ sakes. I tried glaring at him but he did not look my way. I doubted he would have stopped even if he had seen.

"Rank and fortune do not have a bearing on one's position within a pack," she said stiffly. "Only strength does."

"And yet Gawler is not strong. He lost the leadership to King. Perhaps he'll lose it again to another challenger."

"That's the point, Lincoln. There are no challengers. None of us are strong enough to defeat him."

"Swinburn is."

She blinked owlishly at him. Her lips parted to speak then she closed them again.

"And strength does not always imply physical capability," Lincoln went on. "There are other kinds of strength, such as courage, fortitude and an ability to understand and lead people."

"That's where Swinburn fails," Harriet said. "He does not understand good people, only wickedness. Take his affection for Julia. What a horrid pair! I suppose that makes them quite suited to one another. I do see your point, but I must reassure you that Mr. Gawler's pack won't make the same mistake they did with King. He risked their lives and the very existence of the pack itself. They won't let that happen again, particularly not with me there to remind them." She gave us both a smug look.

"You have influence with them?" I asked.

"I do now that I've settled in. At least, I like to think so."

She offered us tea but we refused and bid her good day. She walked us to the front door, her hand resting on her belly. I couldn't help saying something, and I only hoped she wouldn't take it the wrong way.

"When are you due?" I asked.

"December."

"Are you sure?" Lincoln asked, saving me from posing the question. "You look further along."

Her spine stiffened. "Quite sure. Gilly and I were not…" Her face reddened and she looked away. "We only became reacquainted with one another this spring."

"You mistake me," Lincoln said with an apologetic lift of his hand. "I believe you when you say you are only three months along. I'm questioning the fact that you are one third of the way through the pregnancy."

Harriet and I gave him blank looks. "You're not making sense," I told him.

"The gestation period for a wolf is less than three months."

Harriet glanced at the footman, standing by the front door. "But I am not a wolf," she whispered. "Not really."

"You are not human either but something else entirely. It stands to reason that your pregnancy will not follow the pattern of a human woman's."

"Oh. I must ask my pack mates. They'll know." She rubbed her belly and smiled. "I do hope it will come soon. I can't wait to tell Gilly the good news. He'll be quite shocked at first, but he'll grow used to the idea of a little wolf prowling around the house soon enough."

She had more faith in Lord Gillingham than I.

We left the Gillinghams' residence and traveled to New Scotland Yard to speak with Lincoln's police informant. The corrupt detective owed his job to Lincoln and proved to be a good source of information on occasion. It was easier going to him than attempting to sneak into the secure building. Lincoln ordered me to remain in the coach, however. I acquiesced on this occasion so that I could save my battles for more interesting and important occasions.

He returned fifteen minutes later and ordered our coachman to take us home.

"What did you learn?" I asked.

"The victim's name is Reginald Lander, a baker's apprentice who worked in Threadneedle Street," Lincoln said as the coach rolled forward. "He was killed on his way to work in the early hours. His body was found by two constables at four-thirty in the morning. There were no witnesses, although the police continue to question the local residents. Considering the extent of Lander's injuries, they speculate that someone must have heard him scream."

"No one heard the Ripper victims scream," I said darkly. "How extensive were his injuries? Did they match Protheroe's?"

"In every way, according to the report." He indicated where the wounds had been inflicted and described claw marks.

"That does sound like Protheroe's injuries." Once upon a time, such injuries would have sent a shiver through me, or made me nauseated, but I'd seen so much death in the last year, it no longer shocked or sickened me. "We need to find out if Reginald Lander was known to either Gawler's or Swinburn's packs."

"We can ask them now," he said.

"Or we could simply ask Lander's ghost."

"I had a feeling you might say that."

"And I can see you've already decided that I will question the ghost." At the arch of his brow, I added, "You told the driver to return home, not travel to Gawler's or Swinburn's house."

He huffed out a laugh. "Would you rather do it now or wait until we arrive at Lichfield?"

"Now will do. What's his middle name?"

"William."

"Reginald William Lander," I intoned. "I call on the spirit of Reginald William Lander. I need to speak with you about your death."

The ghost filled the cabin like a sketch come to life, and settled on the seat beside me. The baker's apprentice had been huge, as big as Gus, with shoulders and arms that strained the seams of his clothes.

He looked around then addressed Lincoln, sitting opposite. "How'd I get here?"

"I summoned you," I said. "You're dead."

"Aye." Usually the newly deceased were a little confused, but Reginald Lander was quite composed. "But why summon me?"

"I called you here because I need to speak with you about your death. I'm sorry to rip you from your afterlife—"

"I weren't in my afterlife. I stayed near where I died."

"You remained to haunt?"

He passed a massive hand over his face, but it went right through, disturbing the outline of his bulging forehead. His face resettled in the same pattern of oversized nose, lips and brow. "Aye. I wanted to catch the dog what did this, but don't seem to be able to leave the street. I need to go further."

"You can't," I said. "That's a limitation of haunting—you must remain where you died."

"Then what's the bloody point?" The spirit dissolved into wisps that swept around the cabin twice before reforming again on the seat beside me. "Who're you and why'd you bring me here?"

My name is Charlie Holloway and this is Mr. Fitzroy, my fiancé. We're investigating your murder," I said. "We hope to bring your killer to justice."

"Murder? By a human?"

"We believe so. A human in wolf form, that is."

"A what?"

"You called your killer a dog just now, so I thought you knew, or had guessed, that a shape shifter murdered you."

He screwed up his face, drawing his heavy brow to plunge over his eyes. "You ain't making sense, miss. What's a shape shifter?"

I quickly explained the situation. He didn't look like he believed me but he didn't outright dismiss me either. "Is there anything you can tell us about your killer?" I asked. "Anything we could use to identify him or her?"

"It were a big dog," he said with a shrug. "Could have been a wolf, I suppose, although I ain't never seen one before. It were all brown fur and big teeth. And claws." He looked down at the shredded clothing at his chest. "You saying that were a person in there?"

"Yes."

"Why did they kill me then?"

"Did you have enemies?" I asked.

"No." Another shrug of those big shoulders. "I worked hard, helped out my ma at home, got me a nice sweetheart, too."

I repeated his answer for Lincoln. "Were there any rivals for her hand?" he asked.

Lander shook his head. "None. She weren't the prettiest, but I ain't either." He laughed, revealing crooked teeth. "She's the daughter of my employer. Her parents were happy for me to court her. They said we made a good match, being alike in temper and all." He sighed. "I'm going to miss her."

"I'm sure she'll miss you too," I said. "Mr. Lander, does the name Gawler mean anything to you?"

He shook his head. "That your suspect?"

"Not at this point. What about a man named Swinburn?"

Another shake of his head. "You got clues? Witnesses?"

"No, nothing."

He grunted. "You're going to give up, aren't you? Another body turns up in the East End and you don't care. You pigs won't find my killer, just like you didn't find the Ripper. What's it matter if a whore gets murdered, or a dock worker, or a baker's apprentice? It's just another less mouth to feed, another voice what won't rise up."

"Mr. Lander, I don't appreciate your insinuation that we won't work hard to find your killer. Besides, Mr. Fitzroy and I do not work for the police. Our organization accounts for the supernaturals, and I can assure you, we have every intention of finding your killer before he strikes again. So, it's important to answer my questions fully."

"I have, miss. I don't know no Gawler or Swinburn, and I ain't got any enemies what would murder me. I didn't see no one attack me, just a big dog." He spread out his hands, palms up. "Any other questions you want to ask?"

"Lincoln?" I said. "Do you have any questions for Mr. Lander?"

Lincoln asked if he knew the Ballantines and the other members of Swinburn's pack. Reginald Lander didn't. Nor did he know Harriet or any members of Gawler's pack. He had never ventured past any of their places of residence either, including Gawler's in Myring Place.

"I don't usually go through the Old Nichol," Lander said. "It ain't a good area, miss. But it's the shortest way to work and I got lazy these last few days. But I ain't been to Myring Place."

Lincoln ran out of questions and I had no more. I sent Lander on his way and suggested he might as well cross over.

He looked as if he'd refuse but nodded instead. "There ain't no point staying if I can't leave the place where I died. You promise to catch my murderer?"

"We do." I watched him until he dissolved into a mist and finally into nothing at all. "He's gone," I announced. "He wasn't very helpful."

Lincoln studied the view out the window. When we finally arrived home, he took my hand and assisted me down the coach step to the gravel drive.

"Care to walk with me through the garden?" he asked.

I took his arm and kept pace with his slow, easy strides. We ambled across the lawn and passed by the orchard. It was a lovely day, but I didn't care about that, and I didn't think that was why Lincoln invited me to walk with him.

"You have a plan," I said.

"No. Do you?"

"No. Do you want to toss ideas around away from prying ears and eyes?"

"Why does it matter if Seth or Gus hear us?" he asked.

"Because you don't want it known that you have no ideas and are asking me for advice?" It sounded rather stupid even to me.

He chuckled. "My self-worth isn't that inflated. Don't," he added when I opened my mouth to speak. "No need to disagree with me."

"I wasn't going to! I was simply going to ask you why you suggested a walk in the garden."

"Because it's a beautiful day." He glanced back at the house then diverted our path toward the brick wall surrounding part of the garden. "And because I wanted to kiss you without anyone observing."

He hustled me through the doorway and gently pushed me back against the wall. I reached up and linked my fingers behind his head. He settled his hands at my waist and skimmed his lips over mine.

"You're wicked," I said on a breath.

"Very."

"Kiss me properly."

He smiled against my mouth. "If you insist."

---

Due to events over the previous months, the ministry's committee consisted of Lords Marchbank and Gillingham, and Lincoln. Marchbank arrived first, and on time, but Lord Gillingham was half an hour late. I thought he wouldn't come at all but then his gleaming black coach arrived. The gold family crest painted on the side glinted in the afternoon sunshine so that the serpent wrapped around the sword looked as if it winked.

"You're late, Gilly," Lord Marchbank said as Lord Gillingham strolled into the library.

He undid his jacket buttons and sat in one of the deep leather armchairs. "I only just received Fitzroy's message from my wife. If she'd given it to me earlier, I would have gotten here earlier. You know how she is."

"And how is she?" I asked sweetly.

"Stupid."

Well, that wasn't very nice. At least he answered me, I suppose. Once upon a time, he would have ignored me completely unless it was to goad or hit me. "I disagree," I said. "I think Harriet is quite smart but has never had the benefit of a good education to capitalize on it. Granted, she is quite naive regarding some matters, but it's hardly her fault since she has been treated like a child for so long. I'm just glad she now lives her life as a shape-shifting countess ought to." I shot him a winning smile.

He sank into the armchair.

Seth handed him a glass of brandy. "You look like you need this."

"I still can't fathom it," Lord Marchbank said. "Harriet is such a gentle woman. To find out that she has the strength of several men, the speed and senses of a wolf…it continues to amaze me."

Gillingham downed the contents of his glass and held it out. "Another."

Seth pointed his chin at Gus. "You get it."

"Why?" Gus whined. "Because I'm the servant and you're the lord?"

"Because you're closer to the sideboard. But if you insist on being the servant, then by all means, act like one and get him another drink."

Gus crossed his arms over his chest. "Ring for a footman. Let the proper servants do it."

Gillingham leaned on the silver lion's head of his walking stick and pushed himself to his feet. "This is a bloody circus." He marched to the sideboard, the walking stick hardly hitting the floor, and removed the stopper from the decanter. "Lichfield Towers has gone to the dogs."

Gus and Seth exchanged smiles.

"Not quite," Lincoln said. "Although a dog or two running about would liven the place up."

"I've never had a pet," I said, warming to the idea.

"Where's Julia?" Gillingham snapped. "Let's get this over with. I have things to do."

"Like discuss the pending birth of your baby," Lincoln said.

Gillingham, his back to us, drank the contents of his glass and refilled it.

"The birth is months away," Marchbank said.

Lincoln shook his head and waited for Gillingham to say something. He did not. He merely pressed a hand to the sideboard and hung his head. I couldn't feel sorry for the weasel. He was revolting to his core.

"Harriet is wolf-like, in a way," Lincoln told Marchbank. "The gestation period for a wolf is much shorter than a human."

Marchbank absently stroked one of the scars marking his cheek. "Then how long has she got?"

"I cannot guess."

"Intriguing. Did you know about this beforehand, Fitzroy? Was this information in any of your books or files?"

"No."

"Then I hope you're studying her and taking notes. We can learn a lot from her pregnancy, eh, Gillingham. Harriet won't mind, will she?"

"I mind," Gillingham growled.

"But if your wife doesn't then you should not." Marchbank lifted his glass in salute. "Should you?"

Gillingham groaned and turned back to the sideboard and his glass. He downed his third brandy in one gulp. Seth got up and removed the glass from Gillingham's hand before he refilled it.

"We need you sober for this meeting," Seth said.

Gillingham shoved him off. Two blotchy red patches stained his cheeks and his mouth twisted. He'd never looked more ugly. "Where the hell is that whore?

"Julia won't be coming," Seth said, sitting down again. "Not today or ever again. I'm the fourth committee member now. She named me as her heir for the position."

"Julia has been removed from the committee," Lincoln finished.

"What?" Gillingham exploded.

"Removed?" Marchbank echoed. "By whose authority?"

"Mine," Lincoln said.

"You can't do that!" Gillingham slammed his hand down on the sideboard, rattling the decanter stopper. "You have no authority to remove anyone, Fitzroy! Only we as a group can do that. God, man, has taking over General Eastbrooke's position gone to your head already? You are not superior to any of us. You are not in charge here."

"She left me no choice," Lincoln said icily. "Immediate action had to be taken and there was no time to consult you. If you prefer a vote, then let’s do so now, after you hear her crime."

Marchbank put up a finger to stop Gillingham's spluttering protest. Surprisingly, it worked and Gillingham quieted. "What did she do?" Marchbank asked.

"Gave our secrets to Swinburn in exchange for marriage."

Marchbank scrubbed a roughened hand over his face and swore. The elderly gentleman never swore. He must be deeply troubled by the news to do so now.

Gillingham stood very still, his mouth ajar. The two blotches on his cheeks had disappeared and he looked very pale. "The fool," he said. "The stupid fool. I cannot believe she'd do such a thing."

"Can't you?" Seth grunted. "I can. It's entirely in her nature to stomp over other people to get what she wants. Since you are not someone she has ever stomped on, I suppose I can forgive you for not believing us now."

Gillingham sat on the nearest chair and blinked stupidly at Seth.

"What secrets did she divulge?" Marchbank asked Lincoln. "Is there reason to worry?"

"I don't think so. She told him who my father is."

"Is that all?" Gillingham blurted out. "You removed her from the committee for that?"

"Where will it end?" Seth said. "What secret will be next?"

"Do be quiet, Vickers. Your opinion doesn't count since everyone knows you'd like to see her punished for her rejection of you."

Seth rose, but Gus's hand clamped around his arm. Seth looked as if he were considering shoving Gus off and attacking Gillingham when the door burst open.

Andrew Buchanan strolled in, his step cock-sure, his smile oily. "Good afternoon, my fellow members. I'm here. The meeting can get underway now that all committee members are present."

Both Gus and Seth rose. "Get out, Buchanan," Seth said, approaching him.

"My first proposal is to stipulate that only committee members may be present in meetings. What say you, Gillingham?"

"It seems you've heard that Julia is no longer a member," Seth said. "But what you haven't heard is that you're not her heir. I am."

Buchanan plucked off his gloves and slapped them into Seth's chest. "Pour me a drink, Vickers, there's a good man. Make it a large one. I'm gasping, and it seems I have some catching up to do."

"Clearly you have quite a bit of catching up to do," I said. "Seth is right, and you are not Lady Harcourt's heir for the committee position. He is."

Lincoln finally rose and blocked Buchanan's path. He did not order Buchanan out, however. "You spoke to her today?" Lincoln asked.

Buchanan smiled. "I've just come from Harcourt House. She informed me of your decision and then told me I was her replacement." He stretched his arms out wide. "So here I am. Shall we begin?"