William came to a skidding halt in the doorway, fists clenched, glaring at the attorney’s back. Lethbridge stood before his desk. Lanora wasn’t in the room. Her carriage waited out front, though. Her coachman said she’d entered. The only other way out was through Lethbridge’s window. The curtains were pulled tight. No breeze stirred them.

“Lord William. I should have expected you.” Lethbridge set a neat stack of papers on the desk, beside another. He turned, brandishing a pistol.

“I asked you a question,” William snarled. “What have you done with her?”

“You seem to think I won’t use this.” Hatred glinted in Lethbridge’s eyes. “You nobles. You think yourselves untouchable.”

“Oh, I think you’ll use it. Never fear.” William kept his voice low, menacing. “I just don’t think one shot will stop me from throttling the life out of you. Tell me where she is.”

Lethbridge paled, hand shaking slightly. “She’s not here, or are you blind as well as stupid?”

“She came in. No one saw her leave.” William looked to the only other door, leading to the small room where Lethbridge kept his records. Was the knob moving?

“She’s not here. What right have you to barge into my office? I have business to attend to. I will be on my way.”

“What sort of business, Lethbridge?”

“None of your concern. Something for your father.” He looked at the pistol in his hand, seeming confused. “I will use this if you continue to behave in so violent a manner. Don’t think I won’t.”

“We established that.” William folded his arms across his chest. “And you can take a seat. You have no business with the marquess.”

Lethbridge shook the pistol at William, as if the gesture could increase its intimidation. “My business is mine, and the marquess’s. You have no say in it.”

“No, I don’t, but neither does he.” A hard grin curved William’s lips. “The marquess is dead.”

Lethbridge staggered back against the desk, pistol dipping. “No.”

“I assure you, he is. I just came from his townhouse, where I had the distinct pleasure of watching him breathe his last.” William stepped into the room, reaching for the weapon. “The game is up.”

“No.” Lethbridge scrambled around behind his desk, trying to keep the pistol aimed at William.

William winced as the attorney nearly tripped on his chair. The man was dangerous with a firearm. He had it cocked. He might shoot by mistake.

Reaching across his desk, Lethbridge pulled one of the stacks of pages to him. “I will sign it. It will be your word to mine that he didn’t. He could hardly grip a pen of late. Any scribble will do.” With his free hand, he started fumbling at his desk drawer, where he kept fresh pens.

“Yes. Your word against mine, and who do you think will be believed?”

Lethbridge went still. He looked up, his expression feral. “They’ll believe me when you’re dead and Madelina is mine, along with the marquess’s fortune.”

The man was moments from madness. William would not let him slide over the edge before he found out where Lanora was. “Is that how you plan to repay the money you stole from Darington? With the marquess’s fortune? When you drew up that list, you planned all along for me to fail.”

“Of course I did,” Lethbridge cried. He gestured wildly with the pistol. “What respectable woman would marry you? How was I to know Lady Lanora is England’s greatest fool?”

He had to calm Lethbridge down before he really did shoot, though he was as like to hit himself as William. “Why take the money? I would have guessed you make a good living.”

“Toadying to the likes of you? Is that what you call good?”

“I’ve never been easy to deal with.” William tried to control the anger in his tone. Was she in the record room? If so, why didn’t she call out? But where else could Lethbridge have spirited her off to?

“Not easy? You’re the worst sort of degenerate. You spend more on each of your mistresses than I make in a year, and all for women you discard on a whim.”

“Once I marry Lady Lanora, I won’t keep a mistress any longer. You won’t need to worry about the sums.” Or freedom.

“Not keep a mistress? A man like you?” Lethbridge looked baffled. “You told me you would never be foolish enough to love a wife.”

“I lied. I told you what I knew the marquess wanted to hear. You know how he was.” William attempted a smile. “You’ll find me a much more reasonable man now, and he won’t trouble you with his demands. You and I, we’ll work something out with the money you borrowed. Darington will understand.”

Lethbridge’s hand began to shake again.

“Better yet, we won’t tell Darington,” William hurried on. “I’ll cover the debt.”

Narrow, suspicious eyes regarded him over the pistol.

“What did you need the money for? Perhaps I can cover that as well,” William added, his voice the calmest he could muster.

“I invested in trade. A storm sank the fleet.”

“That’s rough luck,” William said. “We’ve all been there. I understand.” Would the man ever put down the pistol? To Lethbridge’s left, the door to the record room inched open. William caught a flicker of pale green fabric and silken limbs.

Lethbridge shook his head. “Why should I settle for some when I can have all?”

Arm holding the pistol bobbing and shaking, but generally pointed toward William, Lethbridge eased open the drawer he’d fumbled with earlier. He pulled out a fresh pen. His eyes dropped to the closed inkpot. He frowned. He leaned across the desk, arranging pen, ink and one of the stacks of papers on the left edge.

The door to the record room inched wider. Relief assailed William as he recognized Lanora. Shock followed hard behind. She held a pistol, pointed toward Lethbridge.

“You will have to sign it,” Lethbridge said. “I can’t open the ink.” He shook the pistol again for emphasis.

William wanted to roar in frustration. Did either of them realize how deadly the weapons they held were? What mad reality had he stepped into? He should have brought a pistol of his own, so he could put an end to this.

“Sign what?” William asked as calmly as he could manage. He didn’t dare look full at Lanora, or he’d give her away. What she planned to do, he had no idea.

“The unsigned will. The one leaving Madelina everything, and giving her into my care. Sign as your father. Try to make it convincing. Your life depends on it.”

William started toward the desk. Lethbridge was a fool. This was William’s chance. The desk wasn’t that wide. When he reached for the inkwell, Lethbridge was his.

“Don’t sign it,” Lanora cried, leaping from behind the door, pistol at the ready.

Lethbridge jumped. He swung toward Lanora. William lunged across the remaining distance to the desk, ignoring the pain in his side. Quicker than William would have credited, Lethbridge turned back.

“Get back,” he squawked.

William went still. The pistol was just out of arm’s reach, pointed at his face.

“Lower your pistol, Mr. Lethbridge, or I’ll shoot you,” Lanora ordered.

“Lower yours or I’ll shoot him,” Lethbridge countered without taking his eyes from William.

“For God’s sake,” William growled. If this kept up, someone was going to get hurt. Now that he was sure Lanora was safe, he didn’t give a damn about Lethbridge, but there was every chance that, once bullets began flying, Lanora could be injured.

A slow smile spread across Lethbridge’s face. “I propose you shoot Lord William, my lady.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“A lover’s spat. Not that anyone will know. You shoot him, and it will be our secret.” Lethbridge’s words dripped oil.

“I will not shoot him, but I will shoot you if you don’t put that pistol down.”

William took some satisfaction in the certainty of her tone.

“I think you will shoot him, when you learn how he’s deceived you.”

“I know about the list. I know about his mistress. We have no secrets.”

Now, Lanora’s sureness knifed into William’s heart. Lethbridge was alive with glee. William’s pulse raced. What did the attorney know?

“Then you must also know that Lord William never lived in Egypt with Mr. Darington. He lived on the poorest streets in London, as a beggar. He and his whore of a mother. She didn’t go mad, she ran off, and took him with her.”

Air hissed through William’s teeth. “Call my mother a whore again and it will be your last word, Lethbridge.”

“William,” Lanora asked, stunned, “is it true?”

William didn’t look at her.

Lethbridge smirked.

Red anger made the edges of William’s vision fuzzy, but he could see the attorney with clarity. “How long have you known? The marquess would never have told you.”

“She told me. When she lay dying in that cell. I pretended I was there to help her and she told me everything. About your brother, the life you’d been leading. How you begged for bread. Everything. I’ve spent years kowtowing to you, a man hardly better than street scum.”

“William.” Lanora’s voice was soft.

He couldn’t look at her. He had to focus on Lethbridge, his enemy. More than that, he feared Lanora’s expression. There would be pity there, if he was lucky. More likely, disgust. It was one thing to hand out bread and treat her gentrified staff as human. It was another to have kissed a man who’d lived in the squalor of London, begging for his food.

“Shoot him, Lady Lanora,” Lethbridge urged. “Set yourself free of this lying scum.”

“It all makes sense,” Lanora said, her incredulous tone finally drawing his gaze. “William, you’re—” She broke off, looking from Lethbridge back to him. “It all makes sense now.”

Was that respect in her voice? Now that William looked, he couldn’t read her face.

“Yes, now you know.” Lethbridge was triumphant. “He was about to trick you into marrying him, a man unfit for the daughter of a duke. No one will blame you for killing him.”

“Do you know what I think, Mr. Lethbridge?” Lanora said, her voice firm, strident. “It’s not having to work for Lord William that embitters you. It’s knowing that you, no matter what path you take in life, will never be his equal. No amount of fortune or education will ever make you half the man he is. Not even half the man he was as a boy raised on the streets of London. And you can’t live with that.”

Lethbridge turned on her, eyes wild with rage. William lunged forward, dove across the desk. He crashed into Lethbridge. A pistol fired. They slammed into Lethbridge’s chair, the wall, the floor. Coming up on his knees, William grabbed Lethbridge by the collar. His fist smashed into the attorney’s face. Bright blood sprayed from Lethbridge’s nose.

William released the torn fabric. Lethbridge’s head dropped to the floor, bouncing once beside the shattered inkwell. William stood. Pain lanced through his side. He winced, pressing his hand to the gunshot wound to find fresh blood. His leap over the desk must have torn his stitches.

He prodded Lethbridge with his boot. The man was out cold. Nearby, the pistol lay spent. A glance upward showed the bullet lodged in the ceiling. Finally, reluctant in spite of her speech, he turned to Lanora.

She still held a gun, pointed right at him.