The sight that awaited them was horrific. Beams of wood, roofing tiles and other debris covered a man whose voice pleaded weakly for help.

“Stay back,” Coventry warned Amelia as he shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her. They were in one of the second-floor bedrooms with three other men who were all trying to lift away the larger pieces of wood. Coventry quickly went to offer his assistance while Amelia watched from the doorway.

Looking up, she glimpsed the sky through the gaping hole in the ceiling. The man who’d gotten hurt must have been on the roof and fallen straight through. They would have to investigate further—especially to make sure this did not happen again.

“I think we may need a doctor,” Coventry said. Crouching to move away pieces of plaster, he glanced toward Amelia. “Perhaps you can ask my coachman to fetch one. Florian will do, if he is available.”

Eager to help, Amelia hurried back downstairs to deliver the message. She then asked the laborers still working in the foyer if they had any water for her to give their injured friend. One of them went to fetch a jug and a cup.

Returning upstairs with it, Amelia arrived just in time to see the injured man being pulled from underneath a large beam. He was coughing and wheezing, his lungs no doubt filled with the thick white dust that covered the floor. She poured some water into the cup and handed it to him. He accepted it with eager hands, setting it to his mouth and gulping it down.

“I think his arm may be broken,” Coventry said. “And there is a large bump on the back of his head. He is in a great deal of pain.”

“What is your name?” Amelia asked the man as she crouched beside him.

“Rob,” he said with a grimace.

“I’m sorry you got hurt, Rob.” She refilled his cup and he drank some more water. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Rob stared straight back at her, then nodded. “I was tryin’ to clear the spots that needed fixin’. You know, removin’ broken tiles an’ markin’ the places where rain ’ad gotten in since those will likely be pretty damaged. I stepped forward onto an area that looked solid enough an’ me foot went straight through. Lost me balance an’ fell, hittin’ me chin on a bit of chipped tile in the process.” He pointed to the cut he’d received.

“I have sent for a doctor,” Amelia told him. “He will hopefully be able to set your arm if it is indeed broken.”

“Hurts like the devil, that’s fer sure. If ye’ll pardon me language, me lady.”

Patting him gently on the shoulder, Amelia stood and faced Coventry. “I want to take a closer look at the damage.”

“I just did so while you were helping Rob.” His expression was grim. “You are not going to like this.”

Bracing herself for what would no doubt result in another large expense, Amelia followed Coventry to where the ceiling had given way. She stared up at the visible parts of the roof’s structure and frowned as she studied the broken off ends of four beams. “I would have expected a more uneven break.” She pointed to one of the beams. “That almost looks as though it was cut, it’s so perfectly straight.”

“That is probably because it was.”

She lowered her gaze and met Coventry’s. “Are you saying this was sabotage?”

“That is what I believe. Yes.”

“But . . .” She shook her head, trying to make sense of such a possibility. “Who on earth would want to do such a thing? I have no enemies, as far as I know and . . .” A thought struck her. “Oh God. Do you suppose the fire might not have been an accident either? That perhaps someone is trying to chase us away?”

He appeared to ponder that for a moment, his face a mask of serious contemplation. “I suppose it is a possibility, though we cannot know for certain.”

“No. But if we suppose that this is the case, a meeting with Mr. Gorrell might be in order. He did say there was another interested party.”

Coventry nodded. “You’re right. At the time I believed it was something he had fabricated in order to make you pay more than the house was worth. But if that was not the case and there really was another buyer, then that individual must have wanted this house very badly to offer such huge sums for it.”

“In which case they might have been very angry when they discovered that Mr. Gorrell had sold it to me.” She cast another glance at the damaged ceiling before addressing Coventry once more. “I think we should head over to Mr. Gorrell’s office as soon as Doctor Florian has finished tending to Rob. The sooner we solve this mystery, the better.”

It was another half hour before Doctor Florian arrived, but it took him only a couple of minutes to confirm that Rob’s arm was indeed broken. Since setting it would require more supplies than he’d brought with him, the doctor suggested taking Rob back to St. Agatha’s Hospital with him. The two departed by hired hackney while Amelia and Thomas took the ducal carriage to Mr. Gorrell’s office only to find it closed.

“That is odd.” Thomas stared at the locked door. “His clerk ought to be here if not the man himself. After all, it has only just gone four on a Friday.”

“Perhaps he has some business out of town?” Amelia suggested.

Thomas frowned. He glanced toward the windows, which were off to one side. “Hold on.” Clasping the corner of the building with one hand, he braced himself and leaned to the right as far as he could manage.

“Oh, do be careful.” It wasn’t too far up, but if he fell he might still get seriously hurt, and in Amelia’s opinion, one wounded man was enough for one day.

Grunting his response, he strained his neck in order to peer through the nearest window. Amelia looked around. If someone happened to see, there was no telling what they might think of the Duke of Coventry invading someone’s privacy like this. So she was relieved when he quickly returned to the ground unnoticed. “It has been vacated,” he said, “and quickly, I might add. There were things tossed about—papers and such. I would say he left in a hurry.”

Amelia felt a shudder go through her. “Do you think he ran from the same person who tampered with the roof?”

“It is becoming increasingly likely. The only problem is that with Mr. Gorrell gone, we might not be able to discover who it is.”

She thought about that for a moment, then had an idea. “There might be a way.” Bracing herself for his disagreement, she said, “It is common knowledge that Carlton Guthrie runs St. Giles, and with the house being right there on the edge of it, he might be able to help.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

Amelia blinked. What? No argument? No telling her that Guthrie was not to be trusted? No reminder of the fact that her brother had barely escaped the man’s clutches and that he’d be furious if he found out they’d sought his help?

“I was expecting you to say no. Instead, you seem surprisingly at ease with the suggestion. Why is that?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug and started back toward the carriage. “I am well acquainted with Guthrie and have no issue with requesting his assistance in this matter.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Stopping next to the carriage, he turned and offered her his hand. She didn’t budge, which resulted in a sigh. “Allow me to hand you up and I will explain.”

“Promise?”

“You have my word.” Pleased by that assurance, she allowed him to do his gentlemanly duty. She took her seat, as did he, and the carriage set off. His contemplative gaze found hers, there was a pause and then, “Your brother introduced me to Guthrie several weeks ago. Huntley was teaching me how to box and thought it would do me good to experience a less polite setting than Gentleman Jackson’s. If you ask me, he also missed the rougher fighting St. Giles had to offer. Guthrie was there. We had a few beers together.”

Amelia stared at him in stupefaction. “So the two of you—a pair of dukes—decided to not only take an excursion into the slums for a bit of sport, but to also keep the company of one of London’s most notorious criminals?” She was going to have some choice words with Raphe when he returned, considering all the lectures he’d given her and Juliette about adhering to propriety and protecting their reputations. Hypocrite!

“Huntley may not like Guthrie much, but he has known him a long time. He spent most of his life in St. Giles and—”

“So did I, if I may remind you. We lived there together, don’t forget. But that did not prevent you from flying into a fit when I merely skirted the edge of it.”

“That is entirely different.”

“Oh really? Is that because you are impervious to danger while I am but a frail woman who must be protected by rules and governed by men whose wisdom surpasses my own in ways that I cannot ever hope to comprehend?”

Expelling a breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Can we please stick to the subject at hand? We have already argued over this once already, and I am reluctant to do so again.”

Feeling peevish, she sat back and crossed her arms. “Very well.”

“Thank you.” He opened his eyes and regarded her steadily. “The point is that Guthrie knows me.”

“Did he facilitate your most recent fight? Is he the reason why your face still looks all blotchy?”

“Yes, but we digress. Once. Again.” He pinned her with a look that said he would not be bullied by her. “As long as I offer him an acceptable sum, he will answer whatever questions I give him.”

“Whatever questions we give him, you mean.”

“No.” His expression changed from serious to forcefully decisive. “You are going home while I am going to meet with Guthrie. I will stop by your house later to let you know what I have discovered.”

“You domineering, aristocratic, high-handed fop!” To her surprise, he grinned, which only annoyed her more. “What?”

“There is something utterly charming about you when you are angry.” A spark lit in his eyes. “It makes me want to be reckless, even though I know that I mustn’t.”

Her anger evaporated in an instant as his words settled over her. He was speaking of kissing, and she suddenly longed to feel his embrace once more—to simply surrender no matter the consequence.

“Oh.”

It was all she could say while she sat there hoping he might decide to ignore his better judgment.

“And now you look adorably befuddled.”

“I do?”

He nodded before averting his gaze and looking out of the window. “Ah. We are here.”

Amelia felt his pronouncement like a jolt. He’d teased the very depths of her sensuality with his heated perusal and she was now expected to forget it? To descend from the carriage and return to the company of Lady Everly and her sister as though nothing had happened?

Well, nothing had happened, technically. He’d just spoken a few words, but those words had made her clamor for him with a desperation that would likely leave her feeling restless for several days after. It also had a distinct influence on her mood, which was once again prickly. But since the only person with the power to change that had no intention of making the effort, she allowed him to help her down and escort her up to the door, which Pierson held open.

“I will return later to inform you of the progress,” Coventry said. “It should not take too long.” And with that he departed while she remained there, trembling with a need that would not be sated.

Swearing beneath his breath, Thomas walked from the street where he’d asked his driver to wait and headed toward the Black Swan. He’d been mad to confess the effect she had on him, for it had only made her look more alluring. Aware of his want, she’d allowed a glimpse of her own, her lips parting and eyelids lowering while her breaths had grown labored. She’d been just as aroused as he by that one proclamation, and it had taken every bit of restraint he possessed not to leap across the carriage and take what he wanted. But he would not behave like a scoundrel even if he had begun to think like one. She was worth more, the only problem being that he wasn’t sure he was the man to supply it.

But what then?

He’d effectively chased away both of her suitors, so unless someone else showed an interest, she’d likely fail to achieve what Huntley had hoped for. Except, Thomas would probably take a dislike to that man as well and sabotage his efforts to marry her. In which case she might end up a spinster and . . . perhaps then he could ask her to be his mistress. Would she agree to such an arrangement? he wondered.

A sigh escaped him as he turned a corner and strode forward, ignoring the stench of refuse and the curious stares of the bedraggled people he encountered along his way. Even if she did, he knew it wouldn’t be fair to her. She deserved to marry and have a respectable family—children that she could dote on. But marriage? Would he actually be capable of entering into such a binding union with her?

For the past five years, Jeremy had occupied his every thought and concern. Every action had been carried out with him in mind. He’d worked so bloody hard to ensure the boy’s future only to find himself struggling more now than ever before.

Perhaps his mother was right and he needn’t do so alone. Perhaps Amelia would offer some much-needed support with regard to Jeremy’s upbringing. She certainly seemed to understand him, had experienced a similar issue with her sister, and showed a degree of patience with the boy that would likely work wonders.

Granted, he was basing his deductions on one brief encounter, so maybe he ought to invite her back. Jeremy would no doubt be thrilled. He’d enjoyed her company immensely until Thomas had put an end to it. But would Amelia be able to accept the complete truth about Jeremy’s birth? Would she be willing to keep it a secret, even from her siblings?

Yes.

He knew it instinctively. She would hold the truth close to her heart, if not for his sake, then for Jeremy’s, and she would do so whether she agreed to marry him or not.

That turn of thought gave him pause. Was he really going to propose to her?

He considered the benefits their marriage would bring. She would be his to seduce at leisure, her body would warm his bed, and the craving he had would finally be sated. But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? For one thing, he genuinely cared for her and enjoyed spending time in her company. For another, she would make an excellent mother for Jeremy.

As for the downside . . . he couldn’t really think of one at the moment.

Arriving at the Black Swan, he saw that the place appeared more dilapidated during the light of day. The paint peeled on the entire facade and the railing out front looked more crooked than he remembered. Inside, the dim interior lacked the life that filled it in the evenings, lending a depressing air of abandonment to it.

Passing the only occupied table, Thomas crossed to where a woman was sweeping the floor. “Is Guthrie around?” he asked, holding a coin in her direction.

She snatched it up and pointed toward a corridor. “Last room at the end. Knock before you enter.”

As if he’d consider doing otherwise.

He headed toward the room in question.

“May I have a moment of your time?” he asked Guthrie after being admitted by a Scotsman who went by the name of McNeil.

Guthrie’s face transformed into one of welcoming politeness. He waved Thomas closer. “My, my, what an unexpected honor.” He gestured toward an empty chair that stood on the opposite side of the table at which he sat. Thomas stepped forward and claimed the seat. “Would ye care fer a pint?” Guthrie indicated a jug. “I can ask McNeil to fetch another mug.”

“Thank you, but that will not be necessary.” Leaning forward, Thomas placed his elbows on the table and met Guthrie’s calculating eyes. “I am here to discuss a house with you.”

“A house?” Guthrie’s surprise was undeniable.

Thomas nodded. “The one on the corner of Bainbridge and High Street.”

“That run-down stack of bricks?”

“It was recently purchased by Huntley’s sister, Lady Amelia.”

Guthrie’s eyes widened. “I was not aware of that.”

It was Thomas’s turn to be surprised. “I was under the impression that you knew everything that went on in St. Giles. At least that is what Lady Amelia and Huntley have told me.”

“And they would have been correct a few weeks ago before my best informant went missing. I’m guessing he was either turned by Bartholomew or murdered,” he grumbled, mentioning the only crime lord whose infamy could surpass his own, if only because Bartholomew’s well-polished appearance and wealth allowed him to mingle with a higher class of people than Guthrie would ever manage to do. “If I ever find him, he’ll wish it was the latter.”

“Then you are probably not in a position to help since the information I need pertains to more recent events.”

“Such as?” A keen interest gleamed in Guthrie’s eyes.

“The solicitor who arranged the sale of the house mentioned another buyer—some individual willing to outbid Lady Amelia until I stepped in and threatened the solicitor with ruining his career. He must have seen me as a more immediate threat because he immediately gave in and Lady Amelia managed to complete her purchase. Since then, however, there has been a fire and today an act of sabotage causing one of the workers to get seriously hurt. The solicitor has also quit town—his office has been vacated. I came here with the hope that you might be able to give me some idea as to who might be behind all of this.”

Guthrie leaned back in his chair, reached for his beer and took a slow sip. When he set the mug down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before saying, “I can still give ye my opinion.”

“I would be happy to hear it.”

“That house was once very grand. Its location is of particular interest since it sits between the good part o’ town and the not so good part.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well . . . let’s say that ye want to take advantage of both sides. Let’s say ye’re in the business of prostitution and ye’d like to start caterin’ to a richer clientele. A house like the one Lady Amelia purchased would make a prime location.”

“I suppose that is true,” Thomas muttered. He wasn’t quite sure where Guthrie was going with this.

“Now, let’s also suppose that ye’d like to gain a foothold in St. Giles.”

“Disregarding the various assumptions you are making, I don’t suppose a name comes to mind?”

Guthrie beamed. “Now that ye mention it, I do believe one does.” Crossing his arms, his eyes narrowed above a smirk. “If I’m to theorize, I’d say Bartholomew’s yer man. He ’as the means to do it. He’s also been after me territory fer years. Tried to win it earlier this summer when ’e had ’is man, The Bull, fight Huntley, but failed. I wouldn’t put it past ’im to try an’ acquire a house like the one Lady Amelia bought an’ turn it into a brothel or opium den.”

“Are those his primary sources of income?”

“Aye, but in the worst way possible.”

“How so?”

Guthrie started to look uncomfortable, which was disconcerting. “Aside from the expected romp, he’s known to offer the sort of experiences that those with particular tastes will pay good blunt to enjoy. With that house in his possession, I believe ’e’ll be lookin’ to offer the wealthy somethin’ only the lowliest bawdy ’ouses provide at the moment.”

“You imagine a twisted, drug-infused El Dorado for the rich and perverse?” Thomas asked and Guthrie nodded, his mouth now set in a flat line. “You could be wrong.”

“I bloody well hope I am, but if I’m not and ’e somehow manages to take control of that house, a lot of me people will suffer. Which is why you can count on me to do me part. I’ll try to look into the matter, now that ye’ve made me aware of it.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the help since Lady Amelia and I have no plan on quitting our own plans for that house. We intend to turn it into a school for the children of St. Giles, and not even Bartholomew is going to stop us from doing that.”

“I’ll certainly wish ye luck,” Guthrie said. “A school would be welcomed. But don’t underestimate a man like Bartholomew. He’s a ruthless villain if ever there was one, and with fewer scruples than me.”

Taking his warning to heart, Thomas left the Black Swan after offering Guthrie ten pounds for his trouble. He then collected his carriage and made his way back to Huntley House so he could brief Lady Amelia just as he’d promised.