Max ran up the twenty-eight steps to the main entrance of Maidenstone Abbey. He’d left his rented horse in the drive, tossing a shilling to one of the grooms who stood alongside a growing fleet of carriages. If his horse was stolen from him while he was inside, he deserved the irony.

When he reached the top of the steps, he saw the same footman who had taken his card when he’d first arrived. He prepared to bluster his way in — as long as he found Lucy before someone took him into custody, he thought he might survive for at least a day.

But the footman didn’t call for irons. He bowed to Max and said, as gravely as if he were greeting a king, “Welcome home, my lord.”

Max wasn’t one to ask questions when things were going his way. He walked into the entrance hall. Trunks and hatboxes were piled high in every corner. The place looked like an inn before the departure of the mail coaches.

Had Lucy already decided to leave?

But he’d seen most of this luggage in the room where the guests’ cases were stored. Lucy couldn’t have left yet.

He had to find her. But before he could choose which wing to start with, Claxton intercepted him.

“My lord,” Claxton said, bowing as deeply as the footman had. “Would you care for breakfast? We aren’t serving the guests, but I can order a tray for you.”

Max furrowed his brow. Of everything he’d expected — or feared — as he’d ridden back from Plymouth, Claxton’s greeting wasn’t on the list. “What’s going on, Claxton?”

“It’s a fine day, my lord,” the butler said. “But you may wish to take breakfast in the kitchens. There’s a magistrate looking for you.”

Max had expected that. He’d gone to Salcombe first — it was vital to his plans, and he needed to know what he might face at Maidenstone. Durrant had left the inn fifteen minutes before Max arrived, which suited Max just fine. It made the first part of his plan easier to implement.

“I’m surprised he let you put him in the kitchens,” Max said.

Claxton shook his head. “The magistrate is with Miss Lucy. I thought you could hide in the kitchens for now. No sense letting him know you’ve returned until we know how to send him packing.”

“I would think you’d want to send me packing, not him.”

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but I saw the Briarley Bible this morning. My loyalty is to Lord Maidenstone, not to any magistrate attempting to cause trouble.”

Claxton bowed again. Max realized with a start that Claxton believed Max was the earl.

It was a bizarre turn of events. But again, Max wasn’t one to question positive developments. “No sense in delaying matters, Claxton. Tell me where Lucy and the magistrate are.”

“Very good, my lord,” he said approvingly. “Shall I also bring you a pistol? The previous Lord Maidenstone had a very fine set of dueling pistols that I’ve kept at the ready.”

Max shook his head. Antonia was the one with bloodthirsty intentions, not him. “I think we can reason with the man.”

Of course, there was a good chance that he couldn’t reason with Durrant. He’d never tried before. But, if he was honest with himself, it had never occurred to him to cross the magistrate. In his memories, Durrant lurked as an imposing devil — condemning Max to death for his crimes, then offering him a reprieve after Max’s fear had already peaked. That reprieve had led to other evils — was it any wonder that when Max thought of taking revenge, he also remembered nearly starving to death in a coal cellar?

He’d never realized just how much he’d believed that he could never be free. But telling Lucy about Durrant had loosened some of the fear. And when the emeralds had spilled out of Lucy’s letter, he’d suddenly had an idea….

His plan was already in action — his family would definitely be in danger if he took the coward’s way out now. But before he confronted Durrant, he had one more question.

“How is Lucy?” he asked.

“My lady is waging war,” Claxton said, pride obvious in his voice. “You will find her in the study.”

That was a supremely unhelpful answer. Max wasn’t going to press his luck. The butler had chosen to support him, but that didn’t mean he would take Max’s side over Lucy’s.

He walked through the halls toward the study. When he reached it, he paused outside to take a breath. Usually, his crimes were committed in silence. This job was all talk. If he got it wrong, he would hang.

Or he would lose Lucy. It was what he deserved. But he’d rather face the gallows than find out he’d lost her forever.

“One job at a time, Max,” he whispered to himself, taking another breath. He straightened his shoulders. He reminded himself that he was an adult, quite possibly an earl, and in the middle of a plan that could save everyone he loved.

Then he opened the door.

The first person he saw was Lucy. She sat behind her grandfather’s desk like a general reviewing battle plans. But her version of a red coat was ruby silk, cut low over her décolletage in dramatic contrast to her pale skin.

His mouth went dry. He forgot everything about the job he was supposed to be doing.

She looked up. Her smile, when she realized it was him, was as radiant as any he’d seen from her.

He saw the future in that smile. He could almost believe that she would forgive him. He might not even have to grovel for leaving her.

Then her smile faded and her eyes filled with worry. “Did you forget something, Lord Maidenstone?”

You, he wanted to say.

But the room was full of people. Ferguson stood at the fireplace. Octavia, Rafe, Thorington, and Callie sat together, angled so that they could see the man who had blighted so many of Max’s years.

Durrant sat in a chair slightly away from the rest of them. He wore a tailored suit with a gold watch chain and a diamond-tipped pin on his coat — little touches that made him seem like an aristocrat rather than a criminal.

But Max saw the curl of Durrant’s lip and the cold, flinty look in his eyes. The magistrate knew how to play his role. He’d likely been pleasant, possibly even subservient, to the aristocrats in the room.

Max wouldn’t get the same treatment.

So he looked at Durrant, let shock play out over his face, and blurted out, “Durrant! What are you doing here? I can’t believe you thought you could play your usual tricks on a group as powerful as this one. You should’ve stayed in London where your friends can protect you.”

Durrant’s mask slipped a little. But he’d had plenty of acting practice over the years. Running a criminal gang while pretending to be an upstanding magistrate wasn’t possible without a good deal of cunning. “Don’t pretend with me, you miserable thief,” Durrant said. “I didn’t think you’d come back to the scene of your latest crime, but I’m glad you did. It’s past time you paid for all your misdeeds.”

Max shook his head as though nothing Durrant said could surprise him. Then he walked over to Lucy and kissed her hand. “I didn’t forget anything, my love. I came back as soon as I got your message that someone had robbed Maidenstone.”

She tilted her head slightly, but her understanding was immediate. She gave him a sharp look that said she wasn’t done with him, then she heaved a sigh as though she was tremendously relieved to see him. “I am so grateful that you’ve changed your travel plans, my lord. Mr. Durrant has offered to help locate the thief, but I knew you wouldn’t want me to take any action without you. I was trying to delay him until you returned to make a decision for me.”

Ferguson snorted. “That’s not quite in character, Lucy.”

She shot the duke a look before returning her attention to Max. “Durrant is a London magistrate on holiday in Salcombe. Thorington met him at the inn and Durrant was quite interested in helping us with our difficulties. Isn’t that convenient?”

“Too convenient,” Max said, glancing at Durrant. “Did it occur to any of you to wonder why he’s gone so far afield for a holiday? Or why he arrived here immediately after I left?”

Durrant frowned. “I’ll be the one asking the questions, Vale. If you want to keep your head, you’ll cooperate.”

“It is rather illogical for Durrant to come to Salcombe on holiday,” Ferguson agreed. “The Briarleys are the only entertainment in the area. He couldn’t have possibly hoped for an invitation to Maidenstone.”

Max sighed as though it pained him to speak. “As soon as I walked in the room and saw that he was here, I knew where you should look for your jewels. Durrant never would have dared to come here while I was in residence. He must have been watching for my departure so he could smear my good name. It’s his usual tactic — set someone else up for a theft he committed and have them executed for his crimes.”

Durrant stared at him. Max saw all the menace that had kept him under Durrant’s thumb during his childhood. The look in his eyes said that he would make Max pay for this — slowly and with a lot of pain.

But Max wouldn’t cower this time. He had resources. He had family who would help him.

And he had Lucy, if he could convince her to marry him. She was looking at him with a little smile on her face that said he could probably have everything if he played his cards right.

That smile gave him all the encouragement he needed. He turned to Ferguson. “Durrant is notorious in the East End. Unlike most of the other magistrates, he’s thoroughly corrupt. Search his room at the inn if you don’t believe me. I’d wager that you’ll find everything he took. I’m just lucky that Lucy sent me a message before his lies could take hold here.”

“This is outrageous,” Durrant spluttered. “I already told you that Vale is a thief. I know all about him from London. This isn’t the first crime he’s committed.”

Thorington hadn’t said anything yet, but he didn’t seem quite as convinced by Max’s story — or as willing to play along — as the rest of them. He looked at Lucy. “Didn’t your butler find a spoon in Miss Vale’s maid’s belongings? Is there any chance she was the thief?”

Ferguson and Lucy both glared at Thorington. Callie kicked his ankle. Thorington held up his hands. “I don’t care if we have to shoot the magistrate — he seems like a most unpleasant man. But I want to know what really happened before we do.”

Thorington’s brother Rafe coughed. “If we’re shooting people for theft, be careful with your accusations.”

“What does that mean?” Thorington asked.

“It was our fault that the spoon disappeared.”

Thorington laughed. “Neither of us were here when it disappeared.”

“Precisely,” Rafe said. “Our dear brother Anthony saw Vale show up to claim the earldom and realized that we’d lose our chances to inherit if Ferguson decided Vale was the earl. You were at the inn refusing to answer the door, I was similarly engaged in Exeter, and Anthony was at a loss for what to do. Apparently he decided to implicate Miss Vale’s maid in a crime, hoping that it would stall Vale’s claim long enough for us to return.”

Thorington rolled his eyes. “I suppose we should just be glad he didn’t burn the house down to ‘save’ it for us. I’ll speak to him about devising better plots in the future.” He turned to Max. “My apologies. Carry on with your inquisition, Vale.”

Durrant surged to his feet. “Your graces, lords, ladies, this is an outrage. I am one of the longest-serving magistrates in London. I’ve seen Vale pass through my courts a dozen times. I am mortally offended that you will not take my word over that of a thief.”

It was a swift, impassioned speech — the kind that could turn a room to his side in an instant. They all stared at him. Max held his breath.

Then Octavia said, “If Vale has passed through your courts so many times, how is he still alive? Were you keeping him alive to frame him for a crime like this?”

Durrant’s face paled. “I would tell you to search my rooms, but you’ll probably find the jewels there. Vale had time to plant them while I was here.”

Max sighed. “I’d wager you left more evidence than that. And with your reputation, you probably wouldn’t like being held at Newgate while the crime was investigated.”

Max wasn’t sure whether he could convince anyone to take Durrant all the way to Newgate for a crime committed in Devonshire — but he needed to resolve things now. And the best way to resolve things to his satisfaction was to make Durrant very, very scared.

The look in Durrant’s eyes said he’d succeeded. “You’re bluffing,” Durrant said. “I have more power in London than you can possibly imagine.”

“That’s interesting,” Ferguson said, adjusting his cuffs. “So do I.”

“You have power, but I’m ruthless,” Thorington said to Ferguson.

Rafe couldn’t let that go without contest. “I’m not a duke, but I’m crafty. You’d be surprised how easily I could make someone disappear.”

Max shook his head. In a way, he almost felt sorry for Durrant. The aristocratic world was so unlike theirs. A duke probably couldn’t get away with murder — but the men in this room had so much power, both legally and socially, that they could accomplish almost anything they desired. Durrant had been a bully in the East End; in this world, he could easily become a victim.

But Durrant deserved what was coming to him.

“I’ll go back to London on the first stage,” Durrant said, striding to the door. “Good luck with this thief of yours.”

When he opened it, Claxton stood outside. He gave no indication that he had been listening, but he barred the door as though he’d guessed what would happen.

Ferguson, meanwhile, cleared his throat and looked at Max. “Are you doing something stupid?” he asked.

Max nodded. “But I have very good reason, your grace.”

Ferguson smiled. Then he clapped Thorington on the shoulder. “Let’s go to the inn and see what we can find in Durrant’s room. I always enjoy routing villains.”

Thorington brushed invisible lint off his coat where Ferguson had touched him. “If I’d known I’d still be plagued by you, I might not have married Callie.”

His wife laughed. “Careful, sirrah. We might find the missing jewels in your room instead.”

They all knew that Max was framing Durrant. But, oddly, none of them seemed to care. They filed out of the study, Durrant in front of them like he was being herded to his own funeral.

Octavia was the last to go. She turned back and said, “Grandfather would be proud of both of you, I think. I’ll tell Claxton not to disturb you.”

She winked before she closed the door. Silence reigned for a moment as Max looked down at Lucy. There was so much he wanted to say — so much he needed to say.

He’d always thought that the day he was free of Durrant would be the best day of his life. Now, with victory at hand, he realized that overcoming the enemies of his past paled in comparison to building a future with the woman he loved.

“Do you want to go with them?” she asked, nodding toward the door. “Do you need to supervise events at the inn to make sure Durrant is implicated?”

Max leaned against the edge of the desk, his leg brushing her knee. Just a touch was enough to center him in this moment. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

She looked up at him. Their gazes met. Her dark eyes were clear, without a trace of fear.

“You look beautiful behind this desk,” he blurted out.

He felt like an idiot as soon as he said it. What kind of man complimented a woman on how she looked behind a desk? He should have said something about her eyes, or her smile — or even her breasts, which were increasingly all he could think about.

She smiled. “I’m glad,” she said. “Because you owe me approximately a thousand apologies. I thought you could start by kissing me.”