“Please sit down, Standish. You are making me seasick just watching you pace.”

William forced himself to halt and instead stare out the wide window of White’s upper floor office. He’d done an unpleasant but practical task today, adding a codicil to his last will and testament in case of his untimely death. Settling a huge fortune and all unentailed properties on his unborn child under Samantha’s guardianship, with assistance from Stephen and Alexander, was the best he could do for them both. As he and Samantha weren’t married, even if she gave birth to a son, the boy couldn’t inherit the marquessate. And not being able to legally marry her immediately was enough to turn him quite mad.

He hadn’t allowed himself to feel in the longest time. Now, like a dam bursting, all kinds of emotions were hurtling through him, especially fear for Samantha and the baby. He’d lost far too many people he loved to untimely deaths. If he lost her, he would never recover.

“Easy for you to say, White. You don’t have a man aiming to kill you tomorrow.”

The intelligence coordinator rolled his eyes. “No. I have men aiming to kill me every single day.”

Hell. There wasn’t an argument to that statement.

“I just can’t stand the waiting,” William said finally, sinking into a chair. “Not knowing what he might do, because that bastard is literally capable of anything.”

Unexpectedly, White’s face softened. “The waiting is the worst part. I understand your frustration and anxiety, Standish. I feel the same way. Bringing Claremont and his accomplices to justice would be the greatest achievement of my life, and allow hundreds of murdered men and women to finally rest in peace. But one wrong step…just one…and he evades the noose yet again. The earl has many friends in odd places. He has carefully cultivated a persona that would make it difficult to convince his peers in the House of Lords that he is even capable of such heinous crimes. And, as you know, the witnesses disappear or succumb to accidents.”

William blinked. “I think that might be the most honest you’ve ever been with me.”

“It won’t happen again. And I’ll deny it with my last breath should you share those thoughts with anyone.”

“So what is the next move on the chess board?”

“A team is being put together as we speak. The best of my men, I promise. When you meet Claremont, wherever and whenever that is, they will be waiting to swoop on the earl and any cohorts captured alongside him.”

“What about Lady Claremont?”

White shrugged and shifted a pile of papers from one side of his desk to the other.

“There is no evidence to suggest she has willingly, or even knowingly, been involved. She will be protected to avoid the kind of treatment handed out to a traitor’s wife. Perhaps exiled to sunnier climes for her health or some such thing.”

“Confidentially…are you serious about arrest and a proper trial? Or is there the possibility this particular male subject might not make it to that point?”

“Of course I am serious,” White replied blandly. “But raids are a hazardous activity. While my operatives strive to observe every procedure and propriety, naturally there are occurrences where they are, shall we say, forced to defend themselves.”

“Then I look forward to defending myself.”

“Beg pardon?”

William frowned. Why the hell did White look mildly startled? “I’m going to end this once and for all. Personally.”

“You most certainly are not.”

He got up from the chair and stalked over to White’s desk. As he braced his hands on the edge, a jolt of pain raced up his shoulder. “This group made me an orphan. And tried to kill me. This is very much my fight.”

“No. It’s time for you to leave the Buchanans behind and retire. Find some blue-blooded lady to marry, and sire enough children to make even Lord Grey blush.”

“I can’t,” he snarled.

White raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve found the blue-blooded lady I’m going to marry, and the first of our blush-inducing brood is already on the way.”

“Good God. You didn’t!”

“I did,” he said defiantly.

“Damnation, Standish,” said White, hurling his pen onto the desk. “Do you know how many rules you’ve broken? How utterly, stupendously idiotic you’ve been? What if Lady Samantha had been involved in her father’s activities?”

“She isn’t! And it was bloody obvious very early on. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did and, that is all there is to it.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” White replied, folding his arms and giving him a disgusted look. “Does Claremont know?”

“I think the fact I’m standing in front of you rather than being fished out of the Thames answers your question.”

“I see.”

“I just want to protect her and our child. Samantha is at Claremont’s townhouse right now, and I can’t stand it. He could be saying all sorts of things to her. Or hurting her.”

“Again, I do understand. But I will have no dead marquesses on my watch. And blood is thicker than water—have you thought how Lady Samantha might react if yours was the hand that killed her father?”

Anger surged through his body and he stared at the floor. Yet White spoke the truth. She probably would hate him.

And yet how could he not be involved?

William raised his head. “I promise,” he said deliberately, as he shrugged into his greatcoat, “not to do anything foolish.”

“Standish,” White growled, his eyes narrowing, but William merely bowed and departed the office.

If White thought he could keep him away from Samantha, if he believed William Hastings, Marquess of Standish, would play no further role in bringing down the man he had been chasing for half of his life, the man he hated with every fiber of his being, he was very much mistaken. Whether in self-defense or not, the only person who would have the ultimate vengeance on the Earl of Claremont would be him.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when Samantha dragged herself from her bed, her rumbling stomach no longer able to be ignored. It was the strangest things about pregnancy—one minute you couldn’t imagine eating anything ever again, the next you were practically gnawing chair legs to appease a bottomless pit.

The hours in her room hadn’t really helped, though. A desperately needed nap had remained elusive, as the conversation with her father whirled around in her head as much as last night’s with William. Reality was being in the middle of two factions who were at war with one another. And soon, very soon, she would be forced to choose a side.

William, the man she loved, and the father of her child. The man she believed in.

Or her own father. Her blood.

Shuddering, she left her chamber and started down the hallway, only to halt at the sound of raised voices. How very odd. Her parents never fought, mainly because neither cared enough about anything the other did.

Every hair on the back of her neck rose. Instinctively, Samantha ran back into her chamber, and grabbed the sheathed dagger from her reticule. With a firm shove, she pushed it down between her stays and skin, then darted back out and into a shadowed alcove between her mother’s bedchamber and the stairs, close enough to hear them, but not be seen.

Her father was looming over her mother with his arms folded. “Remind me how long you’ve been Countess of Claremont?”

“Twenty-one long years.”

“And you couldn’t even do the decent thing and provide an heir.”

“What is all this about, Claremont? You know very well Samantha’s birth went badly, and I couldn’t have any more children.”

“Ah, yes. Your daughter the bastard.”

“You acknowledged her!”

“I hardly had a choice. The dates were approximately right, and the baby had my eyes…but we both know why that is, don’t we? I must say, I did admire your cold-heartedness in forgetting your dead lover so quickly in order to lure me into a library and get caught. That was how I knew you’d be the right kind of wife. An amoral whore.”

Reeling, Samantha pressed a fist to her mouth to prevent a cry of disbelief. John Buchanan wasn’t her father? She didn’t want to hear one more cruel word, yet her feet were frozen to the floor.

“I don’t wish to discuss this,” said her mother, voice rising in fear. “I’m going to summon help.”

John laughed, an ugly sound. “But we are going to discuss it, Eva. And if you take one step toward the door, I will be very displeased.”

“All…all right.”

“I’m going to tell you a tale. A tale of a second son who was always forced to live in the shadow of his perfect brother and sister. Who had no purpose in his life, until the day he met a man named Phillipe. Phillipe taught this second son all he needed to know about being successful. About wealth and power. About victories. About the joys of hunting.”

“Claremont, you are s-scaring me!”

“Good,” he hissed. “You should be scared. Because while you have been useful to me over the past twenty-one years—or should I say, while your eager and indiscriminate cunt has been useful—you are no longer required. I’ll soon be ruling England, and will have the women to match.”

Her mother took a step backward. “Ruling England? How is that even possible? You’re an earl. And a lowly one at that.”

A loud crack sounded, and Eva’s head snapped back from the force of her husband’s blow. Samantha barely stifled a scream. This was the man she had seen that day in the garden. Cold and violent. Her father—no, not her father, he was a stranger named John—hadn’t changed a whit, only pretending to be kind as he used her for information about William. But how could she run for help? Her mother and John were moving closer to the bedchamber door. If he saw her hiding, he would probably hit her as well. And if he hurt her unborn baby…

“I am no such thing, you stupid bitch,” said John icily. “I am a loyal servant of the very generous Emperor of France. The man who will soon conquer the entire continent as well as this pathetic island. He’ll control the world. And I will be at his side.”

“Napoleon? But that is treat…trees…”

“Treason? Technically, yes. But it pays very, very well. Enough to keep you in your vulgar, showy manner, and still have plenty left over for a rainy day. And right now, Lady Claremont, it is pouring.”

Eva sucked in a harsh breath, and made for the bedchamber door. Seconds later she sprinted past Samantha’s hiding place, straight for the staircase. “Help! Help!”

“It’s no use, my dear,” called John, strolling after her. “Penn is waiting downstairs. You are only prolonging the inevitable.”

Shaking with terror, Samantha rocked back and forth on her heels. It was like watching a gothic play, except it was all real. Her mother was gripping the banister at the top of the staircase, her head twisting back and forth between John advancing on her, and the butler standing at the bottom, an unholy grin on his face. And while John sounded the same as he usually did, he looked like a different man entirely. His jaw was hard, his belly flat, and his cheeks unflushed.

Everything had been a lie.

“Can’t you let me go?” said Eva beseechingly. “I’ll go away and never bother you again. I promise.”

“After the things I have told you? Surely you must realize that is impossible,” said John as he methodically peeled her hands away from the railing. Then in one fast, brutal movement, he lifted her so only her toes were touching the ground and shoved her backward. Flailing, choking on a shriek, Eva rolled and thumped down the unforgiving staircase until she lay in a broken heap at Penn’s feet.

Samantha screamed, “Mother!”

Against all reason and good sense, she left her hiding place and ran down the hallway, skirting around John and hurrying down the stairs until she knelt next to Eva.

“Mother? Mama? Can you hear me?” she cried anxiously. The sight of blood oozing from her mother’s temple, and the way her leg was bent in a very unnatural way, made bile rise in Samantha’s throat.

Eva’s eyes fluttered. “He tried to kill me,” she croaked.

“I know. I saw.”

“Nonsense,” said John as he ambled down the stairs, then leaned over his wife and smeared blood across her face. “Your mother is terribly confused. She caught her heel and fell. Isn’t that right, Penn?”

“Exactly, my lord,” said the butler, his eyes glinting with malice.

“And on an occasion like this, one of such pain and suffering, who is it best to call? A physician?”

“Yes,” said Samantha, tears running down her cheeks. “Right away.”

“I disagree, m’dear. I think I know of someone else. A knight in shining armor who would fly to your rescue if he thought you were hurt. And then in one glorious afternoon, all my annoyances will be no more.”

“No…” whimpered Eva. “You cannot mean to hurt Standish. Or Samantha. Not when she is with child…”

Samantha’s stunned gaze flew to her mother. She knew?

John burst out laughing. “Pregnant? Oh, this just gets better and better. Lord Standish will definitely arrive, and a man with that on his mind makes mistakes. Now, Penn,” he said, turning to the butler. “I need you to move Eva and Samantha to the parlor, and ensure they are secure. Then, write two notes. One to Phillipe, and the other to our dear friend the marquess.”

Penn bowed. “At once, my lord. But may I suggest your usual, ah, apparel is put in place prior to visitors arriving?”

“Hmmm, I don’t think so. I’m ready to meet everyone as my true self. Although, thanks to Eva, I do need to wash my hands. You’ll have to excuse me, Buchanan women, it won’t do to not be ready for our most esteemed guests.”

“Monster!” Samantha screamed, and tried to grab his ankle.

But John easily kicked her away, and hurried back up the stairs.

Oh God.

They were all going to die.

* * *

William crumpled the innocuous note in his hand with a roar of rage. Just a few lines, with the potential to destroy him.

Standish,

Come to the Claremont townhouse at your earliest convenience. Unfortunately, there has been a terrible accident involving Lady Samantha and her mother. They need your help. It is a matter of life or death. Of course, come alone.

“My lord? What has happened?”

He glanced at Jensen. “Arrange for an unmarked carriage to be brought around at once. Fetch my pistols. And send a note to White. Tell him to come right now, Claremont townhouse, possibly injured hostages.”

“Lady Samantha?” said his butler, sucking in a harsh breath.

“And her mother. Go!”

After putting on a thin, hammered iron breast plate Mrs. Kingsley had found while tidying one of the storage antechambers, and re-securing his shoulder bandages, William was on his way. He urged the driver to show no mercy for others meandering around Mayfair, and they took off at a fast trot. It was barely a few miles to Sackville Street, but when carriages and carts and phaetons and curricles were all trying to out-jostle each other, sometimes even a short distance could take forever.

Today, thank Christ, he was lucky.

He ordered the carriage to pull up a little way down from the Claremont townhouse, and ran the rest of the way. No doubt there would be men posted to watch for him, but there was no need to announce his arrival with trumpet fanfare. After inching down the narrow alley next to the townhouse, he forced open a wooden gate and slipped into a small courtyard garden. If his calculations were correct, the kitchens were just up to his right.

Interestingly, he couldn’t see many people around. Not even footmen or guards. Perhaps they were all inside the house. Or perhaps Claremont was arrogant enough to consider his skills so superior he didn’t need extra protection.

Taking a deep breath, William retrieved one pistol from where he’d tucked both into his waistband, and pushed open the kitchen door. Inside, three servants were attending to food preparation, but none stopped him or called for help when he walked in. In fact, they gave him the barest of glances. Clearly a man wandering about with a weapon didn’t shock anyone in this household.

He opened the door between the kitchens and hallway a fraction, and glanced up and down. All clear. Lifting his pistol higher, he started walking toward the front of the house.

A soft whistle had him whirling around to see a middle-aged, sturdy-looking maid standing in a shadowed alcove, beckoning him over.

“Front parlor, my lord,” she whispered. “Lord and Lady C, and Lady Samantha too. But the earl’s French connection is on his way.”

William nodded cautiously, utterly unwilling to trust anyone in this household. “Is that it?”

“Penn the butler is guarding the door, making sure no one goes in or out who shouldn’t be, of course.”

Inclining his head with a grim smile of thanks, he continued toward the parlor, until her soft voice halted him again. “The countess has been badly hurt. That evil bastard pushed her down the stairs. But Lady Samantha is unharmed, as best I know.”

“Thank you,” he said tersely, swallowing his rage and fear with difficulty. “There are others on their way—this will soon be over.”

The maid frowned at him. “Aye, and you should have bloody well waited for them. White is not going to be happy with you, my lord.”

His jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“I’m an operative like you. Trudy is my name. I was assigned to be another set of eyes and ears around Lady Samantha. You must know White always has a second, just in case. Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Trudy grinned, then darted past him and hurried down the corridor to the front parlor. “Mr. Penn. Mr. Penn!”

A moment later, Claremont’s butler stepped into his line of sight. “I’m rather busy at the moment, Trudy,” he snapped irritably to the maid.

“But Mr. Penn, Cook and Kitty are fighting again, and this time it is bad. He pinched her behind, so Kitty picked up a knife and threatened to cut off his male parts!”

“I thought Cook had gone to the fishmonger.”

“He returned a quarter hour ago, sir. But Kitty, she’s got a wild look in her eyes. Please come, Mr. Penn, you know they won’t listen to anyone else.”

William could only watch in astonishment as the butler made a growling sound, but actually followed Trudy back down the hallway toward him. Several feet past where William stood, she paused to adjust her apron, giving him the opportunity to step out from his hiding place and hit the butler across the back of his skull with the pistol. The man slumped to his knees, and William hit him again for good measure, sending him toppling to the floor.

Trudy leaned down and tore a strip from the hem of her dress. “Here. Tie his hands with this.”

He did, and the man’s feet, then shoved the butler into a nearby linen cupboard. “Trudy, my thanks.”

“Quite all right, my lord. I’m going to fetch help—there are a few men in a safe house down the street. Try not to get yourself killed before we return.”

William bowed. “I’ll do my best.”

“Godspeed sir. Today must be the day.”

“I know,” he muttered, as she ran back to the kitchens. He crept in the opposite direction, inching his way down the hallway until he reached the parlor door.

The time for reckoning was now