The next evening, Richard eyed the lattice work in Wayfair’s elaborate garden, hoping it would hold him. He’d spent the entire day hounding the halls of Whitehall, insisting the code breakers try harder. He’d even attempted to study the messages himself, determined to unveil their secrets.

They’d shown him nothing.

Perhaps if the hurt in Caroline’s green eyes hadn’t haunted him, he might’ve been able to think clearly.

Damn Wayfair.

He’d uttered the oath so often that it now came naturally with each breath he drew.

The duke had left him no choice. In order to save Caroline’s life and her family from irreparable damage, he’d had to do as Wayfair had instructed—request that Caroline break their betrothal. The duke insisted Richard make her believe him. In fact, he’d watched Richard’s conversation with her to be certain Richard convinced her of his sincerity.

If Richard hadn’t had the excuse of Lady Mintford, he couldn’t have possibly gone through with the act. He would’ve slipped, and Caroline would’ve seen through his lies.

The only way Richard could think to rectify this situation was to provide evidence of the duke’s guilt. Since Whitehall had yet to determine what the messages said, Richard was left with finding other evidence.

He knew searching the duke’s library again was futile, especially when the footman who worked for Wayfair hadn’t been able to uncover anything either. The only other place to look was his bedroom. The footman hadn’t been able to look in there without drawing the valet’s wrath.

The duke was at a party and might return at any moment. The sooner Richard completed this, the better—for both Caroline’s sake and his own. He put his weight on the lattice. Though it felt less than stable, he saw no other way to reach his goal.

He quickly scaled it, cursing his injured arm as he reached a balcony on the upper level, and levered himself over the stone railing, grateful the thing held. The knob on the French door turned easily. Excellent. That saved time.

Coals burned in the fireplace, lighting the room enough for him to make out the outline of a massive bed and dark furnishings. Surely this was the duke’s bedroom.

He quickly crossed toward the small desk along the wall, only to hesitate. With so little time to search, he needed to choose wisely. He moved toward one of the bedside tables and tried the drawer. Locked.

Listening for anyone approaching, he pulled out his pick and went to work, pleased when the lock clicked. He opened the drawer and withdrew several papers but the light was so dim, he couldn’t read them. Setting them aside for the moment, he checked the drawer to see if he’d missed anything.

His fingers grazed a cool metal object and he withdrew the item, his heart hammering at the jewels that glittered in the elegant handle.

While this wasn’t the proof Whitehall might want, it was all the proof Richard needed to claim justice for Dumond. And for Caroline.

He slid it into his pocket. Now he need only determine the best way to use the familiar weapon.

~*~

Caroline stared at the correspondence as she sat at her father’s desk. No matter how many times she tried to focus and comprehend what it said, the words made no sense.

Two days had passed since that horrible night at the musicale when Richard had broken her heart. She had yet to announce the end of their engagement, as he’d asked, to anyone other than her family.

She’d relived those brief minutes, time and again, but couldn’t understand them any more than she understood the letter in her hand.

Hurt had changed into numbness that left her functioning but not living, and certainly not feeling. Feeling would only allow the pain to return, and that she couldn’t bear. Not yet anyway.

When Annabelle entered, Caroline forced her lips to tilt, hoping it looked like a smile. Her family knew the details of what Richard had said, and they’d provided support and love. Their concern for her helped more than she could say.

“Good morning.” Her sister stepped around the desk to give her a hug. She didn’t bother to ask Caroline how she was.

Caroline appreciated that as she didn’t want to lie.

“Anything of interest arrive?” Annabelle glanced over her shoulder and pointed to one of the letters. “Oh, the pawn shop sold the sheep painting. I’m sorry to hear that.”

A lump formed in Caroline’s throat as she stared at the letter. While that had been what she wanted and the money was welcome, somehow it seemed like a mistake given how upset her father had been over the loss.

“I liked that painting too,” Annabelle said. “But Father will soon forget it. The money is more practical to have than something pretty to look at.”

Caroline nodded, the lump in her throat refusing to dislodge.

Sensing her upset, Annabelle knelt beside her chair. “What’s wrong?”

Caroline could only shake her head, unable to form the words to explain how she felt. What if the presence of that painting had somehow helped her father? What if selling it had done more harm than good, upsetting him needlessly?

She closed her eyes, exhaustion taking over. Life had been difficult enough but now that Richard was no longer part of her world, everything felt overwhelming. She could no longer make the smallest decision without self-doubt creeping in. Her family was depending on her, but she had nothing left to give.

“Don’t worry so,” Annabelle said as she wrapped her arms around her. “Be gentle with yourself. These things take time to recover from.”

Caroline drew a shaky breath, resting her head against Annabelle’s. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out.” Her sister leaned back and smiled. “I’m right here beside you. You know I’d do anything to help you.”

“Yes, I know.” But nobody could help her at the moment. Perhaps in a few months, when her heart healed, she’d feel better.

A knock sounded at the library door then it opened, revealing Barkley. The perplexed expression on the butler’s face had Caroline and her sister exchanging looks.

“What is it?” Caroline almost hated to ask. She didn’t think she could deal with any further bad news.

“A delivery. For your father.” He stepped into the hall and came back with a large wrapped rectangle.

“That can’t be a...painting,” Annabelle said.

Caroline’s stomach dropped. “How could he have possibly purchased something like that without us knowing?” The last thing she wanted to do was squander their newfound funds.

“Perhaps there’s a note inside,” Annabelle suggested.

At Caroline’s nod, Barclay set the package on the desk and assisted Annabelle to unwrap it.

“Oh!” Caroline could only stare at the sheep painting. The very one the pawn shop had just advised them had sold. “I don’t understand. How is this possible?”

“Barclay, isn’t there a note?” Annabelle asked.

The butler shook his head.

As Caroline stared at the painting, the truth slowly sank into her. She knew exactly how it was possible. Tears filled her eyes, and she sank to her chair.

“Caroline? What?” Annabelle squeezed her hand. “Who sent the painting?”

Caroline met Barclay’s gaze, and a smile curved his lips.

“I believe the Earl of Aberland might have something to do with this,” he offered.

“Richard.” She whispered his name, blinking, afraid to believe what that meant.

Annabelle frowned. “Truly? But why?”

“Because he cares for me after all.” The hope fluttering deep inside her both frightened and thrilled her. She didn’t pretend to understand why he’d said the things he had, but she intended to find out.

~*~

Richard carefully penned a message at the desk in his library. On the front, he wrote Le Sournois.

That alone should concern Wayfair, but Richard hoped what he’d scrawled underneath would alarm the duke even more. It involved details for which he didn’t yet have proof. The Jib and Anchor Tavern near the shipyard seemed like the perfect place to meet—not so dissimilar from the tavern in France where Wayfair had killed Maria and Dumond.

Richard hadn’t wanted to risk killing the duke in his bedroom the previous night. Not with so many servants milling about. Nor did he want to murder the duke in his sleep. That wasn’t justice.

Instead, he intended to call out the duke and challenge him to a duel. Richard didn’t care what weapons they used—pistols or swords—he was adept with either. Besides, he’d needed time to leave a written accounting of what he suspected the duke was involved in. He’d completed that prior to writing the message. His plan was nearly in place.

The jeweled knife sat on his desk, but in Richard’s mind, it glimmered in the torchlight, protruding from Dumond’s chest. The knife wouldn’t mean anything to Whitehall but meant everything to Richard.

The papers Richard had found in the duke’s nightstand provided additional clues but would take time to thoroughly investigate. Richard didn’t have time. He wanted Caroline free of Wayfair’s threats immediately.

Voices in the foyer had him frowning. Visitors were not welcome. Not when he had so much on his mind.

His butler appeared in the door, his expression disgruntled. “The Duke of Wayfair—”

Before he completed the sentence, Wayfair shoved him aside and strode in. “What is going on?”

Richard stood, doing his best to calm his rage at the sight of Dumond’s murderer. Had Wayfair somehow discovered what he’d taken from his nightstand? It didn’t matter. The outcome would be the same. Wayfair would soon be dead. “You’ve saved me the trouble of delivering a message to you.”

“What possible message could you be sending to me?” Wayfair’s nostrils flared as he marched closer. “Unless you intend to explain why Miss Gold hasn’t yet publicly called off your engagement.”

Richard’s heart squeezed. He’d been trying to not think of that. Nor had he spoken with anyone who would know if she had. But after the way he’d treated her at the musicale, he was surprised she hadn’t declared the end of their association far and wide.

“You’ve forced my hand, Aberland. I’ve no choice but to—”

More voices came from the foyer, interrupting Wayfair.

Once again, his butler appeared in the doorway. “Miss Caroline Gold and—”

Caroline stood beside the butler before he finished announcing her. The beleaguered servant shook his head, looking askance at Richard.

All Richard could see was Caroline. Heart racing, he studied her, wondering why she was here, unable to read her expression. He didn’t know whether to be thrilled or appalled by her arrival.

Her gaze swung from his to Wayfair, and her eyes widened in alarm. Annabelle stood behind her, keeping a close watch on Richard.

Caroline hesitated, clearly confused as to why Wayfair was in his library.

“Well?” Wayfair demanded. “You have not done what I requested.” He gestured toward Caroline, as if to suggest her presence confirmed Richard’s guilt. “You leave me no choice.”

“You have always had a choice, but you continually make the wrong ones,” Richard advised as he held out his hand to Caroline, anxious to put himself between her and the duke.

The stubborn woman remained rooted to the spot.

Understandable, considering how he’d treated her when they’d last spoke. Yet he’d hoped she somehow sensed the truth—that what he’d told her hadn’t been his wish.

“Whatever are you speaking of?” Wayfair glared at Richard then his gaze dropped to the desk where the knife sat. His face paled. “Where did you get that?”

Richard handed the message he had yet to seal to him. “You might want this.”

The duke’s hand trembled as he reached for it, “Le Sournois” clearly visible. “I don’t understand.” His previous anger had vanished. “What is this?”

“I think you know.”

He opened the message, frowning at the contents. “This makes no sense.”

“Those are the registration numbers of several lost ships that Lloyd’s paid insurance claims on—a significant amount to various companies.”

“That has nothing to do with me.” The duke seemed to have regained his wits, admitting nothing.

“When the authorities investigate those lost ships, I believe they will discover who is behind the companies that received the money and what that person did with those funds.”

His thin lips tightened. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing—”

“I’m proving you are Le Sournois, a traitorous English lord. That you’re funneling money from insurance claims to support Bonaparte.”

Caroline started moving closer, much to Richard’s relief.

But before she reached him, Wayfair lunged forward and grabbed her, surprising Richard with his speed. Wayfair spun her to face Richard, wrapped his arm around her neck, and pointed a small pistol at her head. “I’ll be leaving with Miss Gold. If you wish to see her again, alive, you will tell no one about any of this.”

Richard’s heart leapt into his throat. Fear held him tight, stealing his breath.

Before he could react, Caroline drove her elbow backward into the duke’s middle. Annabelle grabbed a vase and struck Wayfair in the head.

Their efforts were enough of a distraction that Wayfair bobbled the weapon. Richard rushed forward, the jeweled dagger in hand. Wayfair squeezed the trigger as Richard reached him. The gun misfired with an odd-sounding pop, but the dagger struck Wayfair between the ribs.

Caroline freed herself and rushed to Richard’s side and Annabelle joined her.

Wayfair released the pistol and sank to the floor, both hands clasping the handle of the knife still stuck in his body.

As if he’d heard the commotion, the butler opened the door, his gaze scanning the room. “Is all well, my lord?”

“Send one of the footmen for a constable,” Richard ordered. “And another one in here to guard this man.”

A footman hurried in to stand near Wayfair. Richard hoped the wound was fatal but feared his aim hadn’t been true enough. He could hardly believe after all his searching for Dumond’s killer that his quest was over. Revenge hadn’t turned out as he’d expected, but that was life--full of twists and turns when one least expected them.

Shoving away all thoughts of the injured man, Richard drew Caroline into his arms and held her tight. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and looked back over her shoulder to Annabelle, who nodded as well. Both sisters kept their distance from Wayfair where he remained on the floor, blood seeping from his jacket to the floor.

Richard eased them both to the opposite side of the library away from Wayfair. “Well done, ladies. You were both amazing.”

Caroline shared a look with her sister. “That was quick thinking, Annabelle.”

“I believe my research is to thank for my quick thinking.”

Richard frowned, uncertain what she meant though Caroline gave her a smile of understanding. He turned to face Caroline, blocking her view of Wayfair as he looked into her eyes, desperate to convince her that he spoke the truth.. “I didn’t mean any of those things I said.”

“I know.” She smiled, tilting her head into one of his hands. “I just realized that.”

“How?”

“When you spoke to me at the musicale, I could see it in your eyes. The sheep painting confirmed it.”

Richard shook his head. “I should’ve realized you would figure out everything.”

She shifted to look around Richard at Wayfair, where he was slumped on the floor. “I don’t understand why he threatened to tell everyone about Father.”

“Because he wanted your father’s shipyard. My guess is he’s bought several over the past few years under various company names and is either using the ships to supply Bonaparte or declaring them lost at sea to collect the insurance money.” He glanced at Wayfair. “Isn’t that right?”

Wayfair said nothing, his focus on the knife, until the footman nudged him with his toe.

“He also killed a friend of mine nearly a year ago with that very same knife. Didn’t you?”

Wayfair’s gaze lifted to meet Richard’s, defiance still in the depths of his pale blue eyes.

“How did you convince Maria to betray us?”

“I threatened to murder her parents.” The smirk he gave had Richard shifting toward him, ready to knock it from his face.

“Shall we take him into the scullery until the constable arrives?” a second footman asked from the doorway.

“That is the perfect place for him.” Though part of him was disappointed he hadn’t killed Wayfair, Richard didn’t want Caroline to see the side of him that was capable of such violent and deliberate behavior.

“I’ll leave you two to a few minutes of privacy,” Annabelle said with a smile then followed the footmen who hauled Wayfair out of the room.

Justice was still served, and with luck, the lady in his arms would agree to be his wife. How could he ask for more?

“Caroline,” he said as he faced her and dropped to one knee. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? As soon as I can obtain a special license?”

The joyful light in her eyes took his breath away. “I never called off the betrothal. I believe we’re still engaged.”

“We’re going to start off right this time, without the secrets and deception.”

Caroline chuckled. “In that case, my answer is yes. I would love to.”

He rose to take her into his arms, kissing her long and deep, releasing all the fear and worry that had consumed him for the past several days.

Then he drew back to smooth a strand of hair from her face. “This would be a true wedding. No more pretending.”

“No more pretending,” she repeated with a grin. “But you don’t need to pay for a special license. That would be far too expensive. We can wait until—”

“We aren’t going to wait a moment longer than necessary for you to become my wife. My lack of finances was one more ruse. I have more than enough money for the rest of our lives. You and your family will never have to worry again.”

“Richard.” She lifted onto her toes to kiss him.

“I love you so very much,” he whispered when she drew back.

“And I love you.”