It was one o’clock in the morning when Daniel’s conveyance rumbled to a halt outside the modiste shop on New Bond Street. After yet another passionate interlude in his carriage, they’d spent more than half the journey asleep. Daniel turned to the woman whose head was resting on his shoulder. The soft, rhythmical sound of her breathing confirmed Daphne slept so deeply she had not realised the vehicle had stopped.

He watched her for a moment, marvelled at the rise and fall of her chest, in the warmth flooding his body whenever he stopped and acknowledged the depth of his feelings.

Once they’d gained a confession from Lord Gibson — which Daniel did not expect to be an easy task — his mind would be free to consider what to do about the captivating lady at his side.

The physical relationship they shared had done nothing to ease his craving. But why would it? He’d fallen in love with Daphne the first night he met her. The intense longing had sparked to life in his chest as he watched her enjoy the opera. Despite lengthy times apart, his feelings never changed. It was the reason he avoided the couple during their two-year marriage.

“Are … are we home?” Daphne sat up, rubbed her eyes, stretched her arms and craned her neck. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Since you fell back in the seat exhausted from our recent activities,” he said unable to prevent the smile forming.

He could not recall another time in his life when he’d felt so elated. Yet they could not continue like this. They’d been careful up till now. But it was only a matter of time before he lost himself in her body. The last thing he wanted was to father a child out of wedlock.

“Being cramped in a carriage forces one to work a little harder,” she replied with a giggle.

God, he loved seeing her smile. She looked so happy now compared to the first night she’d let him into her parlour to explain about the theft.

“It did not seem to bother you at the time.” Daniel glanced out of the window at the modiste shop. “Do you think Betsy will be in bed? The place is in darkness.”

“Not if she’s behind in her work. But we’ll be quiet, just in case.”

“We?” Daniel grinned. “Does that mean you’re inviting me inside?”

Daphne leant forward and pressed three soft kisses on his mouth. “I assumed you’d stay the night.”

Damn. His cock pulsed to life at the erotic image her words evoked. “I suppose we do need to decide how to tackle Lord Gibson.”

They’d both narrowly escaped death during this investigation. Their lives were still in danger. Yet it was the case of seduction that occupied his thoughts.

“Then come inside,” she whispered softly. “We can devise a plan while you rub the knot in my neck.”

“You know as soon as I touch you my mind turns to mush.” By the time they eventually got down to the matter of business, the traitor would have fled to France. And he still hadn’t visited Mr Reynolds. It was not like him to be so lax. “We’ll discuss the plan first else I doubt we’ll ever solve this damn case.”

With no sign of light coming from the parlour, they crept through the house and up the stairs. The faint hum of silence convinced him the modiste was in bed though he expected Bostock was hiding somewhere in the shadows waiting to pounce. The boards on the landing creaked every time they took a step no matter where they placed their feet.

“These boards are as noisy as the bed at Elton Park,” he whispered.

“My bed’s not noisy, but it’s not nearly as comfortable,” she replied as she opened the door to the small parlour and stepped inside. “And as it only half the size — ouch!”

“Hush.”

“What the devil!” She knelt down and felt about in the darkness. “The chair is upturned and blocking my path.”

“We need to light a candle.” Daniel squinted and scoured the room. It took a few seconds for his eyes to grow accustomed to the scene of devastation before him. The odd grey shapes on the floor amounted to broken furniture, strewn garments, the contents of drawers.

“Good Lord!” Daphne cried as she gazed upon what looked like a mound of rubbish and not one’s prized possessions.

“Hold your bloody hands up high where I can see them.” Bostock’s gruff voice boomed through the room as he cocked a pistol.

Daniel froze as Bostock dug the end of the barrel into his back. “I’d think twice before you shoot lest you’ll be out of a job.”

“Thorpe? Is that you?”

“We’ve come home early, Mr Bostock,” Daphne said, turning slowly to face his associate. The tremor in her voice spoke of her anxiety at discovering the shambles in the parlour. “What on earth happened here?”

“There’s been a robbery.”

“I can see that,” Daphne countered.

“For-forgive my disgraceful appearance, Mrs Chambers,” Bostock stuttered. “Had I known it was you I would have worn a shirt.”

With his hands held high Daniel turned too. One did not need the luxury of a candle to see that his man was barely dressed. “Do you normally keep watch wearing nothing but your breeches?” Daniel said lowering his hands. “Does it not get a little chilly?”

Bostock mumbled to himself and eventually said, “A man has to sleep.”

“Indeed.” Daniel inhaled the sweet smell of jasmine lingering in the air. It was not Daphne’s scent. He would know her potent fragrance anywhere. “And is it necessary to wear a woman’s perfume while carrying out the task?”

Bostock bent his head and sniffed at his bare shoulder. “I’ve been helping Miss Betsy sort out the dressing room. Smells like a ladies boudoir in there.”

Daphne gave a disgruntled sigh. “Will one of you gentlemen please light a candle. In case it has escaped your attention, my home has been ransacked.”

“Of course,” Daniel said apologetically. He looked at Bostock. “Does the modiste have a lit candle in her room?”

Bostock nodded. “Miss Betsy’s kept one burning by her bedside tonight. Since finding the mess in here, she’s frightened to sleep.”

Daniel suppressed a grin. How did Bostock know what Miss Betsy did in her bedchamber? He was about to suggest Bostock fetch the candle when the floorboard creaked and a golden glow appeared in the doorway.

“Daphne? Are you home?” Wearing a dressing gown and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, Betsy padded barefoot into the room. She handed Bostock the brass candle holder and grabbed Daphne’s hands. “Oh, forgive me. I wanted to tidy up the mess, but George—” She stopped abruptly and cleared her throat. “Mr Bostock said I was not to touch a thing.”

“Mr Bostock is right, Betsy. Thorpe and I will want to observe things exactly as the thief left them.”

“Would you hold the candle aloft, George,” Daniel said with some amusement as he stressed the use of his friend’s given name, “so we might gaze upon the devastation.”

Bostock nodded and raised the light.

Daphne sucked in a sharp breath and put her hand to her chest.

Daniel came to stand at her side as he surveyed the room. The oak dresser was upturned, the drawers scattered across the floor. Stuffing from the slashed seats on the sofa lay dotted about the place. Broken gilt frames from the paintings, feathers from ripped cushions, and numerous items of clothing created a scene of chaos and disorder.

This was not a robbery.

The culprit was looking for something — proof as to the identity of the traitor.

“It’s the same in the bedchamber,” Bostock said solemnly.

“Everything is ruined.” Daphne’s high-pitched tone conveyed her distress. “The landlord will expect me to replace anything that’s damaged. I’ll have to work day and night for months.”

Daniel put his hand on her arm. “You have no need to worry about money.”

She smiled at him albeit weakly. “I suppose we could make a list of repairs as we tidy up. But where on earth shall we start?”

“I’m sure I can repair the sofa and cushions,” Betsy said.

“And a nail and hammer should right the picture frames,” Bostock added.

Daphne turned to them. “You’re both very kind.”

“As you’ve not apprehended the man responsible,” Daniel said, “I assume neither of you were here when it happened.”

Bostock shook his head. “We went to an inn for supper.” Guilt flashed across his face. “You never said anything about staying indoors.”

Daniel raised a hand to ease his friend’s fears. “I am simply trying to establish what time this occurred. Someone must have been watching the house.”

The person hired to monitor their movements must have sat outside for hours. Such a determined effort spoke of desperation.

“How long were you gone?” Daniel asked.

Bostock glanced at the modiste and shrugged. “More than an hour. Two at most.”

Lord Gibson’s house was but a ten-minute walk. There would have been plenty of time for him to enter the shop, search the rooms and leave unnoticed. Daniel made a mental note to speak to the pawnbroker. The man had an eye for detail and monitored all the comings and goings on the street.

“And I trust your rooms were untouched?” Daniel directed his question to Miss Betsy.

Betsy nodded.

“It is no surprise that I am the target,” Daphne said with an air of despondency. With a vacant stare and down-turned mouth, she appeared so different from the vibrant woman he’d witnessed at Elton Park.

“I promise you this will all be over soon.” The anger in his voice was evident. Not since the death of his mother, had he felt so damn helpless. “Come the morning I shall expend time and energy finding the person responsible.”

Betsy cleared her throat. “Why don’t I go downstairs and make some tea?” She looked up at Bostock. “Come on, Mr Bostock, you can help me. Let us leave them to their work, and then we can help with the repairs.”

Betsy took Bostock by the hand, but he waited for Daniel’s nod of approval before placing the candle holder on the small dining table and leaving the room.

“Oh, Daniel,” Daphne said with a weary sigh once they were alone. “Will this nightmare ever end?”

He pulled her into an embrace, caressed her back, stroked her hair, whispered words of comfort. When she looked up at him, the sorrow in her eyes tore at his heart. He tried to kiss her worries away but the intense passion they shared only sought to distract them from the work that lay ahead.

With some reluctance, Daniel dragged his lips from hers. “If we have any hope of solving this case, we must do our utmost to focus. One kiss and all sense and logic abandon me.”

She smiled though her eyes were red, a little watery. “When I’m with you I find it hard to concentrate too.” She sucked in a determined breath and squared her shoulders. “But we are nothing if not professional, and so let us pay closer attention. Let us put every ounce of strength we have into solving this quickly.”

“Agreed.” Daniel was relieved to see her smile again. “What is your opinion of what happened here?”

Daphne stepped back and scanned the room. “This is the work of the traitor made to look like a robbery,” she said confidently.

“And how do you know?”

“Because a thief would not slash the seat of a sofa. A thief wouldn’t rip apart cushions. In my professional opinion, the traitor is looking for the evidence Thomas mentioned.” She put her finger to her lips and tapped gently. “I can only assume that he knows we are working together. That he fears we are close to discovering his identity and so is searching for the only thing he believes is proof of his duplicity.”

“Then we are of the same opinion,” he said, his chest swelling with admiration, pride, and love for the woman standing before him. “Now I want you to think carefully. If such a piece of evidence exists where would Thomas have hidden it?”

After a few silent seconds, she shook her head. “We sold everything we owned to pay his father’s debt from the failed shipping venture. We sold the paintings, all the books in the library, bar one. I’ve moved house so many times, all I truly own are the clothes on my back.”

Daniel rubbed his temple as he tried to think. “Did Thomas say anything to you that seemed odd? Anything that seemed trivial?”

“No.” Daphne frowned. “He joked about his favourite book being the only thing of value he had left. The night he died he made a strange comment about it.”

“The night he died?” Surely it could not be a coincidence. “And you did not think to mention it to me before?”

“It was something said in passing,” she said defensively. “An expressed opinion, nothing more.”

“What did he say?”

“He spoke of Shakespeare’s wisdom. That his work was for all time. That studying the text provides insight into today’s society not just that of the past.” She shrugged. “As I said it was an odd thing to say.”

“You must have said something to prompt the conversation.”

“No. It was while he was dressing to go out.”

“Well, we must examine everything that occurred on the night Thomas died.” Daniel stared at the damaged furnishings. “Did you say you kept the book after he’d died?”

Daphne nodded. “Yes, it was on my night stand. Thomas mentioned your love of Shakespeare too. He spoke about gifting you the book, said you would appreciate the sentiment.”

Daniel jerked his head back. “I have no love of Shakespeare. Thomas knew that. He knew I found some plots implausible.” It was a debate they’d had many times. “We need to find the book.”

“With any luck, it should still be in my bedchamber.”

“Then help me lift the dresser to make a walkway.” He gestured to the obstruction. Clambering over furniture in a dimly lit room had no appeal.

Daphne grabbed one side, and together they lifted it up onto its base.

As soon as Daphne opened the bedchamber door, she gasped. The bed sheets were in a crumpled heap on the floor next to the top mattress. The night table lay on its side, the glass candle lamp smashed to pieces.

“Stay where you are,” Daniel instructed. “There are shards of glass all over the floor.” The pieces crunched under his boots as he moved to straighten the table. He found the green leather-bound book underneath, picked it up and shook it.

Nothing fell out.

“Thank goodness.” Daphne put her hand to her heart. “I think the fact it’s still here confirms this was not a robbery. That book is worth five pounds.”

Clutching the book to his chest, Daniel stepped over the strewn covers, and they moved into the parlour. After straightening the chairs, they sat at the table to study the pages in the candle light.

“If memory serves, Julius Caesar and Macbeth were his favourite tragedies.” With the book laid flat on the table, Daniel flicked to Macbeth.

Daphne leant forward. “What are we looking for?”

“I have no idea.”

He studied the pages to find nothing of interest. However, when he turned to Julius Caesar, one passage from Act III was underlined boldly in ink.

Daphne pointed at the marks. “Only certain words are highlighted.”

Daniel tried to swallow down the hard lump in his throat. “I think you were supposed to give me this book three years ago.” The feeling of regret weighed heavily in his chest. “When read together, the words say ‘Then I … fell down … Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us’.”

“Good Lord.” Daphne covered her mouth with her hand as she stared at the text. “He must have known his life was in danger. But why did he not confide in one of us? Why leave a clue in a book knowing we’d only find it once he was dead?”

But they hadn’t found it once he was dead. They’d found it three years later. And this was not the only clue Thomas had left.

“I saw Thomas the week before he died.” Daniel’s stomach churned. Now he understood the relevance of his friend’s flippant comment. “I was leaving Hobley’s coffee house in Covent Garden as Thomas was entering. He made a comment about our school days, about the master’s love for the birch. We laughed, but he put his hand on my shoulder and said that he’d come to learn that the master was right.”

“Right about what?”

Daniel cursed inwardly. How could he have been so blind?

“On flogging day the master quoted Cicero to those boys caught lying. It’s a passage about treason and how an enemy at the gate is less formidable than the enemy within.” A stab of guilt hit him in the chest. “Although you were not working as an enquiry agent at the time of his death, you’ve always had an inquisitive mind. Thomas must have presumed we would come together and discover the truth. Perhaps on that last night at the docks, he hoped to apprehend the traitor, hoped never to involve either of us.”

The sound of Daphne’s ragged breathing mirrored his feelings of frustration.

“Why is it we are both adept when it comes to solving other people’s problems and so lacking when it comes to solving our own?”

“It is not your fault,” Daniel said, as he recalled Lord Gibson had been drinking in Hobley’s coffee house on that particular day too. “You tried to tell me something was amiss, and I ignored you.” After she’d refused his suit, he’d kept his distance, lacked the strength necessary to deal with rejection.

The thud of Bostock’s heavy gait on the stairs drew Daniel’s gaze to the parlour door.

Betsy appeared carrying a tea tray. “Sorry we were so long. We couldn’t find a box to light the candle and didn’t want to disturb you.”

Daniel closed the book, and the modiste placed the tray on the table.

Betsy pursed her lips as she considered Daphne’s forlorn expression. “Don’t worry. We’ll have this place cleaned up in no time. Won’t we, Mr Bostock?”

“In no time at all,” Bostock replied, looking far more respectable in a shirt.

“We’ll begin with the bedchamber,” Daniel said with a renewed sense of determination. “The parlour can wait. It’s imperative we get some sleep tonight as we’ve a long day ahead of us.”

While Daphne slept, Daniel would form a plan. Judging by the state of Daphne’s apartments, the traitor was desperate to find the proof Thomas bragged about. They’d escaped death twice. Time was of the essence. And they were yet to locate the other man on the list, Captain Lewis.