“We’re ready,” Gilbert murmured as they entered White’s just before midday. There were a dozen of the wealthiest lords already seated in the Morning Room and a dozen or so coming and going on the stairs. The Times newsman had the official story from Bow Street. The printing presses should be running at full speed. Details of the killings would be in the papers that very afternoon. Soon enough, members of the club would have the afternoon paper spread out before them and the questions and suspicions would begin to circulate.

“I don’t like this,” Carmichael murmured, taking a seat and asking for a pair of whiskeys to be delivered to them. It was early to be drinking but Carmichael had taken to imbibing much earlier in the day than he used to since Angela Berry’s death.

“Steady, man. This was inevitable. It will work.” He certainly hoped so. Innocent lives depended on the word spreading as fast as possible. There was no way they could keep the other murders quiet any longer. The killer was too fast, too clever. Gilbert was about to unleash the wrath of the ton upon their heads.

Carmichael drowned the drink quickly and asked for a refill immediately.

Gilbert only sipped his. “There’s nothing more we can do.”

“Panic is sure to spread.”

“Yes.” Fathers would remove their unmarried daughters from London, shielding them from the threat. He wanted that.

Carmichael was collapsing under the weight of self-doubt and misplaced guilt. It was also time they had a little chat about his absence from the Thwaite ballroom the night Miss Lacy died, too.

“How are you sleeping these days?”

Carmichael shrugged, staring down at his drink. “Every time I close my eyes, I still see her face. So pale. So still,” he whispered.

“You must try to turn your thoughts back to happier times you shared. I know you’re finding it difficult to hide your feelings. She would not want you to suffer like this.”

“How would you know what she would want? You never met her.”

He nodded. “The woman you described to me loved life and loved to laugh. She loved her friends and amusements to be found in London. The little notes she added to your letters proved her bubbly character. You made her happy, you said, at a time when her mother’s expectations were unbearable.”

Carmichael looked down at his hands. “I didn’t deserve her.”

“She loved you and wanted to marry you without question. Remember that, and know you’d chosen well for yourself.” He sighed. “I’m worried about you. I know you’re slipping away alone at night without telling me where you’re going. Drinking too much, too. You need to be with friends more, not watching life pass you by from the shadows. If you do not feel you can turn to me for comfort, then remember you have your godparents, too. One day, you’ll find room in your heart to love life like you once did.”

“Beasley said something similar, but you know neither he nor Lady Scott married a second time.”

“I cannot speak about Beasley’s situation, or your godmother’s. You must know Beasley better than anyone, but he had a daughter to love, and that might have been enough for him. All I am saying is do not commit yourself to any decision yet. Give yourself time to heal.”

Carmichael smiled quickly. “You are a good friend.”

“The best,” Gilbert promised, smirking a little to make Carmichael’s smile widen. “Now, what do you say we spend a little time in the dining hall and get some food into you before you get drunk.”

“Might be wise,” Carmichael agreed.

An hour later, when Carmichael seemed to be dozing after they’d taken luncheon together, servants swept into the club carrying freshly pressed news-sheets.

“The news-sheets have been delivered early today,” he warned Carmichael, who came fully awake immediately.

One by one, the news-sheets were passed about the room. Carmichael grabbed one for them and scanned the article. “Exactly as you wrote it, I think.”

Gilbert read it too, pleased there had been no sensational embellishment added to the story before printing.

Within minutes, a deathly silence fell over everyone. The faster readers, especially those who must have female relations in London, were quick to find their feet.

Each cast a shocked glance toward Gilbert, because he was named in the article as an investigator working for Bow Street to catch this killer. His association with Bow Street had never been widely known before, and he had liked it that way. Some might consider him a spy in their midst and be put out with him, too. He’d danced with a lot of daughters in recent weeks. They might feel he’d been disingenuous with them all.

However, catching the murderer was more important than a few ruffled feathers. Each murder had been described in the paper with just enough detail that he hoped to tug at the memories of those who’d attended the events.

A reward for good information had been offered, mostly funded by Carmichael’s estate, and some from Gilbert’s own pocket, too.

The men with daughters fled the club. The others merely stared at each other. Soon enough they began to talk amongst themselves, discussing the deaths and the locations mentioned.

Lord Wade rushed over. “This is how you chose to inform society?”

“We didn’t want to create a panic borne from distorted fact,” Gilbert explained.

“Guaranteed you’ll have one now.” Wade shook his head, jaw clenching, and then he left, too.

Gilbert frowned after him. “Wonder where he’s off to in such a rush? Does Wade have an unmarried sister I don’t know of?”

“No. He does have a younger brother though.” Carmichael frowned as well, staring after him. “Were you sure he was innocent?”

“There’s always a first time I could be wrong.” And if he’d made a mistake in clearing him, some young lady would pay for it. “I’ll follow him. See where he goes,” Gilbert decided. He looked at Carmichael. The man was tired. “You better stay here a while and collect information from those who come looking for me. I will see you at my home later, all right?”

Carmichael agreed.

Gilbert rushed outside to the footpath and looked around.

He spotted Lord Wade nearly running away from the club and gave chase. Given Wade’s haste without a known cause, Gilbert trailed behind at a discreet distance to see what he did next without alerting the man that he was followed. However, his caution was unnecessary. Lord Wade never looked back once. He went straight to his home, a modest dwelling on Hanover Square, and disappeared inside.

Gilbert stopped a distance away but kept an eye on the front door. After a few long minutes, he began to look about. He couldn’t watch Lord Wade’s home all day. This was a Runner’s work. A gentleman in fine clothing loitering on the street was bound to draw attention if he did not have a reason for being there. He didn’t know anyone who lived on this street, unfortunately, so he had to find someone to take his place.

Just as he spotted an urchin to watch the house, a carriage drew up before Lord Wade’s dwelling. The viscount emerged a few minutes later. He carried a sack in one hand and a basket in the other. A pair of servants followed, carrying a trunk between them.

Lord Wade was leaving London—and in something of a hurry, by the way he barked at everyone who worked for him.

Alarmed, Gilbert started forward to intercept. Unfortunately, Wade dived into the carriage and it pulled away before he could reach the house. The carriage moved fast and was soon lost from sight in the thickening traffic. He looked about for an empty hack, or even a horse to commandeer, but there were none in the street to be had.

Gilbert swore under his breath and considered his chances of following Lord Wade on foot and catching him with his head start. The odds were not good.

However, there was a young man from Lord Wade’s household standing on the pavement, watching him. The man could tell Gilbert what he needed to know, or be taken in for questioning.

“You there, where has Lord Wade gone?”

“He didn’t say.” The fellow looked him up and down. “But he said someone might come. Lord Carmichael…or is it Lord Sorenson?”

“Sorenson,” Gilbert said uneasily. “What is he up to?”

“My brother does what he thinks is necessary. It isn’t always appreciated by the recipient,” he said, smirking. “Now if you will excuse me, I’m responsible for our aunt now. Never an easy task.”

“Wait. I want to speak to her.”

The fellow looked surprised. “Are you certain you want an interview with her? You won’t like what she has to say. No one ever does.”

Lord Wade’s aunt, Mrs. Hesper Lenthall, was often with Lord Wade at society events. She may have her own suspicions to share about where Wade was going, and he needed that information now. “Yes, I need to speak to her.”

“Very well, but don’t say you were not warned.” The fellow held out his hand. “Nigel Royce, my lord.”

They shook hands, and he was led inside a very modest townhouse and into what must have once been a beautiful drawing room. The fabrics used to decorate the room were faded now, the colors dulled by age and exposure to light.

“Auntie,” Nigel Royce called softly to wake the woman from her drowse.

The small woman, perched on a chaise lounge, blinked her eyes and peered across the room at them. “Is that you, Mouse?”

“Yes, Auntie,” Nigel promised. “We have a visitor.”

The old lady brought a lorgnette to her eye and studied first Nigel and then Gilbert. After a full minute of scrutiny, she set the lorgnette aside and popped a sweet into her mouth. Her eyes were bright, sharp, like a bird who sees a shiny new treat has landed at her feet. “Lord Sorenson. What an unexpected pleasure this is for me.”

Gilbert swept into an elegant bow.

Lord Wade’s brother dropped into a lounge and sprawled out. “Wade was right that someone would come,” he told her.

“It is a mistake to underestimate him,” she said, and then cackled with laughter. “That boy does provoke the worst suspicions in people.”

Gilbert sat when gestured to a chair. He perched on the edge, aware he might be delivering terrible news to someone so old. “Do you know where Wade has gone?”

“Of course.” The woman peered at him. “My nephew tells me everything.”

“Then you know I’m investigating the murder of innocent young women?” Gilbert asked.

The lady and nephew looked at each other then burst out laughing.

“This is not a matter to laugh over,” Gilbert told them, incensed for the victims.

“Well, it is if you suspect my nephew of such actions. Wade wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“Well, he frequently kills those,” Nigel stated, giving the old lady a wink.

“Indeed he does. And I have no complaints about that habit of his.” She reached for her wine glass and took a sip.

Gilbert cleared his throat. “I need to know where your nephew has gone, madam.”

“Away with a clear conscience that he has done all he can for the little doves he admires,” she promised. “Wade noticed the absences first. Even so, we can’t help but lament that the boldest fillies have all disappeared from the race to the finish line. It’s been a very dull season without them enlivening proceedings.”

“The boldest ones are dead?”

“Why, yes. Don’t you realize that yet? Well no, I suppose your attention is somewhat distracted by your own little dove.” The old lady smirked. “The lasses bound for ruin have always been the most amusing during the season. I remember the year I married, there were three deaths that year. Harlots, every last one of them, too. Terribly popular they were. Such a shameful waste of future gossip.”

Gilbert stared at her, thinking of the statements piled over his desk at home. Yes, the victims had all been outgoing young women, but could it be as simple as that? He’d looked for links to Carmichael and found none but kisses connected them. They had studied other rakish bachelors who may not be acceptable enough to make a match with the victims, as well as any debts the victims’ parents may have held over others.

Was it really as simple as someone trying to get rid of women they considered a bad influence?

That would confirm that Anna was in no danger. She was an innocent—or had been before they’d met. But if anyone found out what they’d done together before the engagement was announced, would she still be safe?

Sudden fear gripped him. Lord Wade and Lady Windermere had known all about Anna and him since that fateful Friday night. They had found them together, and knew Anna had been compromised. If the killer had learned of that meeting somehow, Anna might still be in danger.

“I have to go,” he said. He needed to marry her and put her good reputation beyond any doubt. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Yes, you’d better rush off to that sweet little thing you’re to marry. Wade wouldn’t like anything bad to happen to her,” she suggested. “She is such a naïve, trusting gel.”

Anna had assured him she would not venture out without her father, but he had no idea who might have called on her in her own home over the past few days. The killer might change their tactics and strike out at any time.

Gilbert was out the door, arm raised to signal the first carriage that spotted him, and on his way to Anna’s home, still too slow for his liking.