Jason had no trouble locating Mr. Gillies. The small thin gentleman lived in a respectable part of town. He stood for a moment on the street wondering why he was pursuing the matter. Did he suspect Bianchi was guilty of fraud, or did he just wish him to be? He had to admit that his feelings for the Baron were decidedly antipathetic.

“I was left some money by a relative,” Mr. Gillies explained over a glass of wine and biscuits in his sitting room. “It is my long-held dream to fill my house with beautiful art. This is my first purchase.” He nodded toward the framed sketch of a pair of male hands pressed together in prayer on blue paper, purported to be by Dürer, where it hung in pride of place on the wall. If it was a copy, it was very well done.

“When did you purchase this from Baron Bianchi?” Jason asked.

“About two months ago here in London.”

Jason took a sip of wine, finding it a good vintage. “What made you suspect the work is a forgery?”

“A friend of mine who is a collector has seen what he believes to be the original in a gallery in Vienna.”

“Perhaps this is that drawing?”

Gillies shook his head. “My friend has only just returned.”

“Then is it possible, perhaps, that the one your friend saw is a forgery?”

Gillies jaw sagged. “Impossible to say.”

“So the expert has assured you the Dürer is authentic? Do you know much about Barrett?”

“Nothing. His card states he is connected to the esteemed establishment, The Royal Academy of Arts.”

“But you still seem unsure, Mr. Gillies?”

Gillies sat up straighter. “I remain unconvinced. Do you know of someone who might help?”

“I would advise consulting Mr. John Smith in New Bond Street. He is undoubtedly the best in the business. I have written to a friend in Florence who knows Bianchi and has viewed his collection. I’m not sure what might result from it if anything.”

“I am most grateful. I shall certainly consult Mr. Smith.” He hesitated. “There is something else.”

“Yes?”

“Might be nothing. Barrett purports to be English, in conversation he mentioned he hails from York. He’s no Yorkshireman. He’s no Englishman, in fact.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“A swarthy fellow, but that’s by the by. I served in the army on the Continent in a clerical capacity. I expect my ear is now tuned to languages, for I detected a foreign inflection beneath Barrett’s precise English.”

“Interesting.” Jason finished his wine and stood. “I’ll advise you of anything I discover.”

Gillies shook his hand. “I am most grateful to you, my lord.”

At the Lamb and Flag, the taproom, which smelled of beer and onions, was surprisingly empty of customers. The publican wiping down the oily tables hailed Jason as he walked through the door. “Good day to you, sir. Can I get you an ale?”

“No, thank you. Have you any information for me?”

“I asked around. As I said, most were watching the fight. It’s not every day you see a one-armed man handle himself so well.”

“True.” Jason tried to hide his impatience. “Nothing then?”

“I’m told the fellow who picked a fight with Bart had jeered at him, called him a cripple.”

“Deliberately provoked him?”

“Could have. Bart was spoiling for it, though, as I’ve said.” The publican held up a plate-sized hand. “One of my regulars saw another man pick up Bart’s bottle. He couldn’t see what he did with it, as his back was to him. Might have just read the label for all we know.”

“Did you get a description of him?”

He shook his head. “Better dressed than most and short, with dark hair, is all. Haven’t seen him in here since.”

Jason dropped some coins into the publican’s palm then handed him his card. “You’ve been helpful. The man might turn up again. Anything you feel I should know, send a note to this address. I’ll make it worth your while.”

The publican grinned. “Bit of skullduggery brightens me life.”

As he made his way to Kinsey House, Jason admitted he was far too eager to see Helen again.

 

Helen, her cheeks flushed, hurried to greet him as Fiske admitted him to the house. “I am pleased that you called, Lord Peyton. Mother isn’t here, I’m afraid.” She turned to the butler. “We’ll have tea in the library, thank you, Fiske.”

As soon as the door closed, she turned to him, her gray eyes anguished. “Our housemaid Alice is ill. A painful stomach complaint.”

He rubbed his neck as prickles climbed his spine. “The doctor has been called?”

“Yes, but he couldn’t discover the cause. As Alice was feeling a little better this morning, we have sent her home to her mother.”

Although Helen did not express her fears in so many words, it was clear that the possibility of Alice being poisoned had occurred to her as it had him.

“A wise decision. It’s to be hoped she recovers quickly.”

“Indeed yes. Alice’s mother resides in Cherrywood Village, where there’s an excellent doctor should Alice need further treatment. But I have something else to tell you. Yesterday, I noticed a letter from Mr. Volta lying on the desk. When I tried to read it, Mr. Thorburn acted quite oddly. He practically snatched it away from me. After he went home, I returned to read it.”

Her concern and vulnerability called to him, but he kept his hands resolutely at his sides while his desire to take her in his arms warred with his responsibility to shake some sense into her. Alice’s illness already had ice threading through his veins. “Prevented you? Not forcefully?”

She walked over to her father’s desk. “Now you are teasing me. Of course not. He merely took the letter from me and placed it in this portfolio.”

“Why did you attempt to read Volta’s letter? Hadn’t we decided to wait for your father? You have signaled your interest to Thorburn,” he said brusquely. “You might have thought it through. Such an action was rash and could be dangerous.”

She turned away from him, her shoulders stiff with indignation. “Why do men think we women incapable of rational thought? Jeremy was outside in the corridor. I knew I was in no danger from Mr. Thorburn.”

“You knew no such thing. You thought the risk worth taking.”

She waved that away. “If you’ll just stop lecturing me, I’ll tell you the rest of it. What I have since learned.” She selected a leather-covered folder from the desk. “It’s all in here. My father’s drawings, his discussions with Volta. But I can only read a smattering of Italian. I hoped you can do better.” She untied the ribbons and opened it out on the desk.

Still determined to get his point across, he raised an eyebrow at her then sifted through the correspondence, notes, and drawings, pausing to study a sketch taken from the wall of an Egyptian tomb. “I wonder what this is.”

She moved closer, drawing his attention away from the etching with the sound of her breath and her womanly scent. Fear for her when he was not here to safeguard her mingled with an increasing desire to grow closer.

“Where is Lady Kinsey?”

“Away from home. Mama’s latest charity for poor relief is taking up much of her time.” She glowered at him and traced a finger over the sketch. “But is this not extraordinary? These two long glass cylinders the two figures are holding are attached by some length of cord. Inside them looks to be something akin to a pair of electric eels. Of course, I can’t decipher the inscription. But I don’t doubt my father has done so.” Her eyes sought his with an urgency that made him catch his breath. “It appears that Papa and Mr. Volta, who, as we know invented the Voltaic pile, have been working together.” She selected a letter. “It says here that they believe this proves that light can be produced from a new and different source, an electrical current of some kind that can light up a lamp and possibly the streets of London.”

“Remarkable,” he murmured.

“Isn’t it?” She leaned over him to sort through the portfolio. “My father has stated in his notes that, when the first foray into Egyptian tombs was made, no sign of candlewax or oil was found to show how the Egyptians lighted those windowless stone spaces. He believes they had discovered another way of producing light and that this drawing, which he translates to mean electric fish, gives a hint of it.”

“Good Lord!”

“Yes. I believe Bart was caught up in this.”

“That’s certainly possible.”

Her fingers clutched his sleeve. “Don’t you see? Bart must have discovered the plot to steal Papa’s plans and was killed for it. Why else turn to the government for help? And another letter from Volta has arrived today.”

It was also possible that Bart had been involved initially and then, for some reason, turned against the conspirators. He didn’t want to think badly of a man he liked. He reluctantly drew his gaze from Helen’s vivid face to study Volta’s latest letter. “First, let me see what Volta has to say.”

“Yes.” She handed him the letter and gestured to the sofa. “Please do.”

“I’ve learned more about Volta, his experiments in electrochemistry,” Jason said, sitting down. “The Italian took his findings to Napoleon, who was most impressed. No doubt the French are keen to learn more.”

She sat beside him. “I’m afraid Volta’s writing and the Italian language defeated me.”

The ticking of the ormolu clock on the overmantel filled the quiet room. He was conscious of the impatient lady beside him as he read. When he put the letter down, he knew she would not like what he had to tell her. “Volta writes that he’s given the matter much thought but does not wish to pursue it any further.”

Tilting her chin down, she frowned at her hands in her lap. “That’s definite?”

“I’m afraid so. Volta has retired, and while there’s a good deal of promise in what he and your father have discovered, and he does not discount further experiments will lead to producing an alternative to gas, it will be many years before it can be expanded and developed. Especially as gas will soon provide light for all of London.”

She twined her fingers together as he watched her excitement ebb away. “Then it has all come to nothing.”

“It appears so.” He hated to see her disillusioned, but this might stop her searching for answers, and Jason’s main concern right now was to keep her safe. “Your father will be disappointed.”

“Papa will remain undaunted. I expect his excursions to uncover ancient artifacts will continue. And who knows, he might find more evidence to support his theory and work with another scientist.” She sighed.

He averted his gaze from her bosom. “You’re disappointed too.”

“I had hoped to persuade my father to take me with him on his travels. Mama dislikes the heat too much to accompany him.”

Jason found the idea of Lady Helen disappearing off to the East distinctly unpalatable. “He has refused you?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never asked him, but he would not consider it now.”

He wondered what had happened for her to believe this. Before he could ask, Jeremy brought in the tea tray then left.

“So, where to next?” She poured the tea into cups.

Jason told her what he’d discovered at the Lamb and Flag. “I’m not hopeful it will lead us anywhere.”

“If Bart’s murder was because of this theory concerning electric fish, whoever is involved will surely give up now that Volta has dropped the experiments.”

“They would not have learned of it. Even with Volta out of the picture, your father’s discovery will prove to be of immense value to someone. They’ll be hoping for more to come.”

“And if we keep watch, we can catch them,” Helen said, her hand holding a cup paused halfway to her lips.

“We are not going to keep watch, Lady Helen,” he said sternly. “Please don’t raise the subject with Mr. Thorburn again. I’m yet to be convinced he’s not involved in this.”

She shrugged a shoulder, maddeningly indifferent. “You believe it to be Thorburn?”

“I don’t know who’s behind it. Until I do, you must leave it to me. I thought you’d promised not to investigate on your own.”

“I don’t recall promising any such thing.” She frowned and pressed her lips together. “I believe I have done well.”

“Remarkably well.” He cocked an eyebrow, slightly amused. “I don’t have to worry about you, do I?”

Helen began to tidy the portfolio with her slim capable hands. “You have no need. I have a father, Lord Peyton, who will be home very soon.” She raised her head. “Why do you care so much about us?”

Jason hesitated while he sought an effective answer. “I hold myself responsible for your safety and those in this house. It is your mother’s wish. There are vulnerable people here, you especially, Lady Helen, because you’ve shown such an interest. There may be those who are growing impatient and nervous of discovery.”

“I have only done what anyone in my position would do. In the absence of my mother and father.” She pushed back the table, rattling the cups and saucers as she stood. “I am not a fool, Lord Peyton.”

He rose and rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, feeling the tension in her body. Something had happened to this spirited girl who wanted so much more from life than the one she had chosen for herself. “I am aware of that,” he murmured. Without thought, he traced her soft cheek with his knuckles. “I have never thought you foolish, Helen.”

She hid her response to his touch beneath lowered lashes, but a telltale flush rushed up her throat, and she backed away until she came up against the desk. Recovering, she turned smartly back to the portfolio. “Could it be possible that someone has been reading this correspondence?”

“The library is open to anyone in the house, is it not?”

“Yes, but apart from the maids cleaning the rooms, no one could enter this room during the day without being seen. Therefore, they must come during the night. This new letter might draw them here.” She fixed him with a stare. “Someone should spend the night and watch for them.”

Jason raked his hands through his hair. “But it will not be you!”

Her gaze took in his disordered locks before answering. “There’s no need to roar at me. I shall do it whatever you say.”

“What!” He gave a slow grin at her sudden boldness. “If anyone spends the night here, it will be me.”

She frowned. “Don’t be so straight-laced. I am hardly a green girl. No one need know of it, and if they did, my reputation shan’t suffer for none of the staff would repeat it outside this house.”

“You have remarkable faith in your staff, Lady Helen,” he said, his mouth an ironic twist. “I absolutely forbid it.”

She glared. “You forbid it? I don’t see how you will come to learn of it, Lord Peyton.”

“Because we will keep watch together.”

Helen stared at him. “But that’s preposterous. Then I would be compromised, and so would you be.”

“I am willing to take that chance.”

She shook her head. “It’s not necessary for you to be here. I have the perfect hiding place. No one will see me.”

“Nevertheless, I expect you to admit me to the house after the butler has retired. I shall handle the night watchman. We must avoid the footman on night duty. You know how best to do that.”

“I am not entirely sure I should allow you to—”

“Are you and your mother going out this evening?”

“No.”

“Then Lady Kinsey will have retired by midnight?”

“Yes, but...”

“Then I’ll be at the servants’ entrance at midnight.”

“No…I…”

“If you wish to obtain your mother’s consent, please do so.”

“But you know my mother will never agree to me spending the night in the library, let alone with you.”

“I shall be there whatever you decide.”

She frowned. “I…”

Behind them, the door opened. Jason turned as a bright head appeared. Lady Diana slipped into the room.

Jason bowed. “Lady Diana.”

“Lord Peyton, how good to see you again.” She hurried forward, her face wreathed in smiles.

Behind him, Helen shifted from her position at the desk. “You are too late for tea, Diana. Shall I ring for more?”

“Yes, please.” Diana smiled brilliantly at him. “I was delighted to learn that you are attending my ball, Lord Peyton. I hope you will ask me to dance.”

“I intend to, although I fear your beaux will claim them all.” He smiled and turned to Helen. “Will you save me a waltz, Lady Helen?”

Helen’s mouth, still tight with rigid disapproval at his authoritarian manner, softened. “I shall look forward to it.”

He bowed. “I must leave you to enjoy your tea, ladies. My regards to Lady Kinsey.”

Jason left the house with the certainty that Helen would be there to admit him. She had not agreed, but she would not leave him kicking his heels outside in the dark garden. Walking home, he considered his response to her question. Why did he care so much? He was only too aware of the feelings he had for her, which he was struggling to ignore, that grew stronger each day that passed. Heaven help him, he neither wanted the responsibility of another vulnerable female nor could he walk away from her. The guilt at his failure to prevent Phoebe from risking her life had never left him. Nor when he’d led his men into battle knowing he was taking many of them to their deaths.

Did he really want a peaceful life? After all it was he who wanted to continue with the investigation. He could hardly blame Parnell for that. He might well be wasting his time. But time was something he had plenty of lately, and for whatever reason, that no longer suited him. And while he was being entirely honest, he admitted that he was drawn to Kinsey House because of Lady Helen.

As he entered his front door, Lizzie, her eyes alight, ran to greet him. “Jas! I am engaged! Bianchi requests an interview with you.”

He fought to hide his consternation. “My felicitations, Lizzie.”

She eyed him speculatively. “You’re not pleased.”

“I have yet to form an opinion of Baron Bianchi.”

“But you will not prevent the match?”

He sighed. Hard enough that he would lose her from his life, the man responsible was not his choice. He could not in all conscience prevent her taking a chance at happiness, however. “No, invite Bianchi to dinner on Friday.”

“But that’s days away.”

“If he wants you, he will wait, Lizzie.”

Jason retreated to his library, where he poured a liberal portion of whiskey into a tumbler, wrestling with these new feelings that almost overwhelmed him. Taking a deep sip, he leaned back in his chair and savored the blend of oak and peat on his tongue. After Phoebe’s death and he’d left his angry father to join the army, he’d grappled for control of his emotions. And during the war, he succeeded. A man in charge of men could not afford to be emotional. It would get them killed. But it was as if from the moment of Parnell’s accusation, that he was sleep walking through life, that he’d begun to thaw. He released a long breath, forced to admit he was greedy for passion and meaning in his life. With a faint smile, he understood. Jason put down his glass. Well, that was all going to change.

 

***

“Did I interrupt something between you and Peyton when I came in?” Diana asked, arranging the flounced skirts of her blue and white dimity gown as she joined Helen on the library sofa.

“No, of course not.” Helen settled her features into what she hoped was a relaxed smile while trying to banish the disturbing vision of spending a night alone with Peyton. “Peyton has now turned his inquiries to an inn Bart used to frequent. It’s possible the tonic was tampered with there.”

“Then Bart’s death has nothing to do with us?”

“Maybe not.”

“I must say I’m relieved.” Frowning, Diana put down her half-eaten muffin. “Still, the way Peyton looked at you did not seem impersonal.”

Helen’s nervous fingers found the cameo brooch at her neck. “We are merely trying to unravel this mystery in Papa’s absence. Mama wants it settled before the ball.”

“He must have said something. You do not appear to be your usual composed self.” She tilted her head. “He wasn’t flirting with you?”

“Surely a man and woman can spend time together without a romantic involvement?”

“But you must admit he’s terribly attractive.”

Helen began to stack the tea tray. She could not allow herself to even dream of a future with Peyton. “You are such a romantic. It’s true that I do find him personable. But that’s all there is, so, please, do not embroider on it.” Helen yearned to be left alone to plan the evening. Could she manage somehow to remain dressed without Diana becoming suspicious? It seemed doubtful, and that would ruin everything.

“I don’t know how you remain so remarkably unruffled, Helen. It is your nature, I suppose. Well, you may not want him, but I’m sure many women would. He has an air of authority, which fascinates, apart from being handsome. The combination of green eyes and dark locks is quite compelling. I could fall under his spell very easily.”

“I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear you think so.” Her chest grew tight. Jealousy was so unbecoming. She’d never considered herself capable of such a lowly emotion.

Diana smiled. “I might flirt with him if I could gain his attention.”

“At the ball, you mean?”

Diana snorted. “When we dance, perhaps. But with you in the room, I tend to become invisible to him.”

“What nonsense you talk.” Helen stood, wishing to put a stop to the conversation, which made her nerves jangle. “What’s that commotion in the hall? Has Mama arrived home?”

The door flung open, and Mama hurried in waving a letter. “This has just come from Walcott. Alexander has fallen from a tree.”

They rushed over to her. “Is he badly hurt, Mama?” Helen asked.

My dears!” Mama held out her arms and embraced them. “A broken limb they think. The doctor was with him when this letter was sent with your grandfather’s carriage. The coachman is walking the horses. Eloise is packing a portmanteau. I must leave in a minute. Helen!” She held up a hand as Helen began to speak. “No, you cannot come. You are to remain here to chaperone your sister.”