Billings Bank was located on a small lane a convenient distance from the Bank of England and the ’Change. The squat, grey stone building was unprepossessing, as if designed to be overlooked. As Alaric entered with the others, however, he saw the affluence of the interior. Fine furnishings clustered around a marble hearth, and an ornate bronze chandelier bathed the reception area in a luxurious glow. Beyond, Alaric saw a carpeted corridor leading to a suite of private offices.

A uniformed clerk hurried over and inquired about their business.

“We’re here to see Billings,” Kent said.

“Do you have an appointment, sir?”

“Tell him that the Duke of Strathaven wishes a word,” Alaric said.

“Yes, Your Grace. Very good. Please have a seat,”—the clerk gestured to the waiting area, bowing low—“while I let Mr. Billings know that you are here.”

Alaric accompanied Emma to a chair. He remained standing, casually assessing the other patrons. Billings clearly catered to rich clientele of a certain class—specifically, the underclass. Though the other clients were dressed in expensive garb, their ruthless expressions and armed guards suggested that they’d earned their wealth the hard way and would do what was necessary to keep it.

The clerk hurried back and announced that Mr. Billings was ready to see them. The suite they entered was spacious, outfitted in mahogany and shades of burgundy. Billings rose from his desk; short and wiry, he had dark, keen eyes and sharp features. His expression was politely smooth, his accent polished.

“Welcome to my humble establishment.” He waved them into the seats facing him. “Tea?”

“Thank you, no,” Alaric said. “We’ve come on an urgent matter.”

“Indeed? I’m not sure how I can be of assistance.”

“We need information on one of your clients,” Kent said.

Billings’ gaze flickered; other than that, he remained perfectly composed. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss my clients. We at Billings pride ourselves on the utmost discretion and confidentiality. I’m sure you understand.”

“And I’m sure you understand that if you don’t talk to us now you’ll find yourself in bluidy Newgate,” Will said.

“On what charge?”

“As an accomplice to murder,” Kent said.

“That’s absurd.” Billings’ laugh was brittle. “I’m not involved in any murder.”

“You may not be, Mr. Billings, but I think you know someone who is.” Emma’s gentle yet firm tones drew the banker’s attention. “I met your daughter at the Blackwood ball.”

“Gabriella?” The banker’s countenance darkened. “What does she have to do with this?”

“She told me that one of your clients sponsored her to the affair. A rich and influential gentleman who owed you a large favor.” Emma paused. “We need to know the identity of that man. We believe that he may be involved in the assassination attempts on His Grace.”

“My business was built on the precept of confidentiality. I have a reputation to protect,” Billings said stiffly. “The clients who seek me out—let us say they are not the most forgiving of men.”

Alaric had enough of beating around the bush.

“Neither am I, Billings,” he said with cool menace. “Tell me who this bastard is, or I will use my power and influence to ruin you. I will take this bank apart brick by brick. I am not an enemy you wish to make.”

The banker’s eyes darted like a pendulum as he made internal calculations.

“I will tell you,” he said with clear reluctance, “but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Spit it out, man,” Will growled.

“Lord Mercer,” the banker said. “He was the one who owed me a favor.”

Alaric’s stomach clenched. Goddamnit—the bloody fop was behind all this?

“What did you do for Mercer?” he demanded.

“About five months ago, he came to me. He asked me to broker a deal for him.” The banker straightened a pen on his desk. “It involved stock in United Mining.”

“Didn’t you take over the venture around that time?” Will asked Alaric.

Alaric gave a terse nod. “Why would Mercer want to kill me? If he bought shares, I’ve made him rich since I took the helm. After the expansion vote goes through, he stands to make a mint.”

“Well, that’s just it, you see. Mercer didn’t bet on the price of stock going up—he wagered on it going down.”

Comprehension sent ice floes through Alaric’s veins.

Of course. The sneaky, brilliant bastard.

“I don’t understand,” Emma said, her brow pleating.

The banker set about explaining in the pedantic tones of a schoolmaster.

“Mercer and I entered into an arrangement wherein he ‘sold’ shares to me and I paid him the selling rate at the time. In other words, I gave him money for shares he did not yet own, and in return, he signed a promissory note to present me with the actual shares within a specified timeframe—with an extra percentage added, of course. Do you follow?” Billings said.

Emma nodded.

“This happened a few weeks before Strathaven formed the venture. At the time, United Mining was a sinking ship,” the banker went on. “Mercer was certain that the price of the stock would continue to go down so he planned to use the money I gave him to purchase actual stock later, when the prices had fallen even further. In that way, he could pocket the difference and replenish his fortunes.”

“But then I took over and the prices went up,” Alaric said, “which means Mercer has been falling deeper and deeper into debt.”

“Precisely. Lord Mercer has managed to hide the fact that he’s in Dun territory up until this point, but now?” Billings shrugged. “He’s utterly on the rocks. And per our contract he is obligated to provide me with the actual stock certificates by the end of the next fortnight.”

“How much does Mercer owe you?” Kent said.

“At today’s price of United shares, approximately thirty thousand pounds,” Billings said. “That’s to say nothing of when United’s expansion vote goes through. From the talk I’ve heard, the stock prices will go through the roof. Mercer’s debt—it will be astronomical.”

“And you’ll have made yourself a tidy profit,” Alaric said.

Billings didn’t bat an eyelash.

“Mercer thought that if he did away with Strathaven, United would fail once more,” Will reasoned grimly, “and all his financial troubles would be over. It’s definitely motive for murder.”

“I know nothing about that. I’m just a banker,” Billings said.

“But you’re not surprised, are you, that Mercer would resort to killing a man?” Kent said.

Billings’ lips formed a hyphen.

“Do you know Silas Webb and his connection to Lord Mercer?” Emma asked.

Despite the heinous revelations, Alaric felt his lips quirk at her shrewdness. She might look like a pretty miss with her glossy curls and big brown eyes, but his Emma never missed a step.

“Mr. Webb accompanied Lord Mercer to one of his appointments here,” Billings said. “He didn’t say much, but I believe they are business partners.”

“They were partners,” Alaric said. “Webb is dead.”

“Dead?” the banker said.

“Shot through the head. Aye,” Will said, “that is how Mercer thanks his associates.”

“I can take care of myself.” Billings flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve. “I’m an important man to important men, and my clients—they don’t like losing their deposits to a thief. If Mercer reneges on his debt, half of the underworld will be out for his blood.”

* * *

In the carriage, Emma said, “That Mr. Billings wasn’t a very nice man, was he? Strange, because his daughter was lovely. I hope Gabby doesn’t land in hot water because of all this.”

Frowning, she wondered if she should try to send Gabby a note.

“Aye, I would not use nice to describe the banker extraordinaire to the underworld.” Mr. McLeod snorted. “No wonder Mercer’s on the run. If we don’t find him, Billings’ cutthroat clients will.”

“Where will we look next? Lord Mercer’s residence?” Emma said.

“If by we you are referring to Will, Kent, and me, then yes,” Alaric said. “You, however, are going home.”

“What?” she said indignantly. “We’ve discovered the murderer. I’m not leaving now, in the middle of an investigation.”

“My rules, pet. You agreed to them.”

At his autocratic tone, she stiffened, ready to argue, but he cupped her chin in his gloved hand.

“You have been a great help.” His husky words sent waves of delight through her. “But I will not risk anything happening to you. What remains is dangerous business, and I cannot afford to be distracted by my concern for your safety.”

She chewed on her lip. Blast it, he was … right. Her physical prowess was no match for the brutal, murderous strength of men like Mercer. The last thing she wanted was to compromise the mission.

Swallowing, she said, “What about your safety? That of Ambrose and Mr. McLeod?”

“We’ll be armed and have guards with us,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”

“Strathaven’s right.” This came from her brother, who’d been quietly watching the interplay. “You can help best by being with the family.”

“Don’t worry, lass,” Mr. McLeod added, winking, “I’ll look after your duke.”

Emma blushed. “I hope you will all look after each other.”

Alaric drew the back of his hand across her cheek, the gesture so casually tender that her chest hurt with all the love she felt for him.

“This will soon be over and then you’ll give me your answer about our future.” Though his words were cool, peremptory, she heard the yearning beneath. “Promise me, Emma.”

How could she resist those pale irises gleaming with intensity and raw need? He made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world for him—as he was the only man for her.

Her certainty blazed like a bright star. She knew what her answer would be.

“I promise,” she said. “Be safe. I’ll be here. Waiting for you.”