Five minutes had passed since Ross entered the museum, yet every second felt like an hour. In her mind, Estelle concocted a host of scenarios. Lord Cornell, a jealous, obsessed husband, lay in wait ready to blow a hole in Ross’ chest. Or would Ross creep up on the man, punch him for his past misdeeds, deliver a fatal blow that would see him swing from the gallows?

Was it a trap?

An ambush?

With heightened anxiety, she opened the carriage door and stepped down to the pavement. Wickett climbed down from his box and was at her side before a word left her lips.

“I know what you’re thinking, miss, and his lordship will have my hide if I don’t persuade you to step back inside the carriage.”

“Something is wrong, Wickett.” Whether it be intuition or the bitter chill in the air, a shiver raced from Estelle’s neck to her navel. “I can sense it.”

From the flash of alarm in his eyes, she knew he sensed it, too.

“His lordship knows how to handle himself. I know I shouldn’t say this, but he enjoys a good fight.”

Estelle recalled tracing her finger over the scars on his arm and chest though she had been too preoccupied to ask how he came by them.

“Lord Trevane told me he was fighting in the alley on the night we met.”

Wickett pursed his lips. “That was one night out of many. He likes to prove no one can hurt him. Wounds heal. Scars fade. Still, nothing seems to calm the torment raging inside.”

Was she to blame for that? she wondered.

“Then we must go after him before he does something he may live to regret.” Something that might see them separated for far longer than eight years.

Wickett shook his head. “He’s calmer this last week. Happen he’ll think twice before taking any unnecessary risks.”

Estelle was about to protest when a figure appeared from the shadows. The man was tall and dark with a menacing aura which she attributed to the beaver hat concealing his eyes and the broad shoulders accentuated by the capes of his greatcoat.

Wickett straightened at her side, his hand sliding covertly into his coat.

The man approached them, pushed up the brim of his hat with a walking cane which she considered was more a weapon than an aid to help with one’s balance. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Mr Joseph?” Wickett relaxed his shoulders and sighed. “I could ask you the same.”

Mr Joseph glanced back over his shoulder before stepping closer. “I’m waiting for the constable and the chief magistrate. But there’s no time. You’d best get his lordship out of there.”

Panic flared.

“Where? The museum?” Wickett frowned. “Lord Trevane is meeting Lord Cornell.”

“God damn.” Mr Joseph hit the ground with his walking cane. “Sorry, miss, for cursing.”

“Pay it no mind.” She had heard far worse from Faucheux. “If you summoned the magistrate, then you must know Lord Trevane is in danger.” How could this man know of Cornell’s letter when they had received it less than an hour ago?

“Lord Cornell is a crook. After Lord Trevane asked me to watch him, I followed Cornell to St Leonard’s in Shoreditch. He met a man there, a jeweller named Morris, and they made an exchange. Turns out it’s one of many.”

“An exchange?” she said, wondering what on earth he was talking about and what this had to do with Ross.

“Seems Cornell is doing more in there than studying old relics,” Mr Joseph said. “He’s swapping priceless gems for paste.”

Estelle might have been shocked, but she’d heard of titled men involved in smuggling. Why not theft on a grand scale? “And you’re worried because the magistrate will want to know why Lord Trevane is in the museum meeting a jewel thief.”

“You have the right of it, miss,” Mr Joseph said. “I know his lordship well enough to know he’s not involved. What I don’t know is why the hell he’s in there.”

“He received a letter to meet Lord Cornell,” Estelle said. “I read it myself.”

Mr Joseph rubbed his bristly chin. “You’re sure it was from Lord Cornell? I’m asking because his wife entered the building five minutes before you got here. I hear she’s been hankering after Lord Trevane for some time.”

The sense of panic grew stronger now as if every new snippet of information tore another breath from Estelle’s lungs.

“How long has Lord Cornell been at the museum?” she said though was somewhat reluctant to hear the answer.

“My man followed him here at eight o’clock and kept watch until I arrived.”

Which meant that Lord Cornell could not have sent the letter. Estelle stood for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do. Was Ross oblivious to the fact Lady Cornell was inside? Had it been the lady’s motive all along to have Ross kill her husband? They were certainly ill-matched, most definitely ill-suited.

“So the magistrate knows Cornell is the one stealing the gems?” Wickett asked.

Mr Joseph explained how he caught Morris with the real gems and forced a confession. “Morris makes the imitation paste based on Cornell’s measurements and drawings. It might take three or four attempts until it’s right. Morris sells the gems to his contact abroad and they share the funds. That’s what the magistrate seems to think.”

While Wickett went on to probe Mr Joseph about how they would get his lordship out without alerting Lord Cornell, Estelle shrank back furtively. Both men were so engrossed in plotting and planning that they failed to notice her sneak behind the carriage and race across the road.

She opened the service gate and slipped inside, stole through the garden to the door leading into the museum. The one that Cornell assured them was open. As she reached the narrow flight of stairs leading down to the basement, she heard voices.

Skilled at tiptoeing lightly on her feet, Estelle plastered her back flat against the wall and crept downstairs.

Three figures stood at the end of a room crowded with display cases, tables and broken statues. The dust in the air clawed at her throat. It took every effort not to cough and sneeze.

“So that is your plan,” Lord Cornell said shaking his head at his wife.

Lady Cornell stood with her back to Estelle. She wore a long black cloak and held something in her hand.

“Trevane comes here with a story to distract me,” Lord Cornell continued, “so you can creep up behind and commit murder.”

Lady Cornell chuckled. “Vane knew nothing about my plan and merely took the bait, as I intended.”

Estelle hated it when Lady Cornell called him that. While Vane was derived from his title, it meant disloyal, fickle, and in no way conveyed the character of the man she knew.

“Trust me,” Ross said. “I am as much in the dark as you are.”

“Then allow me to shed a little light on the situation.” Lady Cornell moved closer to her husband. “You see, I was always supposed to marry Lord Trevane. My mother dedicated ten years of her life to make sure it happened. But as you know, when she died I had no option but to marry a blubbery mammal stupid enough to put Colonel Preston’s odd creatures to shame.”

“Now listen here,” Lord Cornell protested. “I’ve given you everything. You want for nothing.”

“Other than a virile man in bed,” Lady Cornell countered. “And everyone knows Vane is the epitome of sexual prowess.”

Estelle could not argue with that.

Lord Cornell looked astounded. “Marriage is about more than a quick romp beneath the sheets.”

Ross cleared his throat. “I think you’ll find the word quick may have led to the problem.”

“Precisely,” Lady Cornell agreed. “And so, as Vane and I were meant to wed—”

“That may have been your mother’s plan,” Ross interjected, “but it was most certainly not mine. There is only one woman I hope to marry, and it is not you.” Ross snorted. “You can shoot me, and still I will not change my mind.”

Estelle slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Was it a pistol Lady Cornell held in her hand?

“Oh, I have no intention of shooting you, Vane. And I’m certain when you’ve heard what I have to say you will change your mind about marrying me.”

Lady Cornell was suffering from some sort of mental imbalance. Either that or her arrogance knew no bounds.

Without warning, the lady raised her hand, pulled the trigger and shot Lord Cornell. The sharp crack echoed through the room, shaking the glass doors in the display cases.

“Good God!” Ross cried as the lead ball ripped into Cornell’s chest, taking the man clean off his feet. “Have you lost your mind?”

Lord Cornell grabbed the cloth on the table and dragged it with him as he landed with a thud on the tiled floor.

“Lost my mind!” Lady Cornell screeched. “Do you know what it has been like for me? Watching you cavort with other women, hearing their lewd tales. Having to go home to that monstrosity.” She waved the pistol at the man groaning and writhing on the floor.

“If we don’t help him, he will die.” Ross knelt down over Lord Cornell’s body.

Estelle took the opportunity to creep closer. At any moment, Wickett and Mr Joseph would appear. What if the lady had a knife and stabbed Ross amid the confusion?

“That is my intention. When he’s dead, we will be free to marry.”

“You’re deluded if you think there is any chance of that happening.” Ross shrugged out of his coat, rolled it into a ball and placed it under Cornell’s head.

“We are in this together now. If caught, we’ll both hang.”

“I highly doubt it.” Ross sounded so confident. “Enough people know of your obsession, of your silly notes, and I have the letter inviting me here.”

Lady Cornell snorted. “You think I don’t know who she is. My mother described her to me many times. You gave it away when you called her Estelle. Such an unusual name. It certainly explains why you’re so besotted with a shopgirl.”

Ross glared at Lady Cornell, his eyes dark, dangerous. “Be careful. Be very careful.”

Lady Cornell shrugged. “Once the world knows Miss Darcy survived the shipwreck and is so free with her affections that she whores about in coaching inns, she will be shunned. Imagine the humiliation. Imagine the torment. Imagine how people will treat your children.”

Estelle’s stomach grew hot, so hot it burned as bile bubbled and rose to her chest. She was set to burst, to hail fire and brimstone down upon this pathetic creature.

But Ross shook his head and laughed.

“Do your worst. You may be governed by society’s rules, but I am not. And I can assure you, neither is Miss Darcy.”

Lady Cornell fell silent for a moment. “She doesn’t love you. If she did why has she only recently returned to town?”

“That is no business of yours.” Ross turned back to look at Lord Cornell. He pressed his fingers against the man’s wrist. “It’s not too late to call for help. I’m sure you can think of something to account for firing the shot.”

Without warning, she threw the pistol on the floor, darted forward and grabbed a sharp implement off the table. She jabbed it at Ross. “Step away from him. I’ll not suffer his presence another minute.”

Estelle slid her hand into her boot and drew the hunting knife that she had found beneath Ross’ pillow. She moved closer.

“How do you hope to account for his death?” Ross said. “You’ll not get far before you’re apprehended. Have you ever heard someone’s neck crack when they fall from the gallows?”

“Oh, that pistol isn’t mine,” she said with an air of arrogance. “I think you’ll find that the initials engraved on the plate are yours. Indeed, your coachman should know better than to leave your carriage unattended. I managed to sneak back and take it while you were busy with your whore.”

Ross jumped to his feet. “My God, if you were a man I’d break every bone in your blasted body.”

“I’m simply showing you that I am just as strong as you. Together, we would make an invincible pair. You’ve no choice but to work with me now.”

Ross sighed. “Move aside. I must find help.”

Lady Cornell slashed at his shirt, cutting through the linen. Ross staggered back. He pressed his fingers to the skin visible through the slit in the material. Spots of blood tainted the tips.

Estelle was but a few feet away and could not wait any longer. As she crept forward, she met Ross’ gaze. His eyes widened in horror.

“Oh, you’re right to be scared,” Lady Cornell said. “I have been so patient. I’ve let you cast me off and humiliate me. I’ve played the simple-minded coquette, but no more. Either we concoct a story together, or I shall blame you for what’s happened here.”

“May I offer another suggestion?” Estelle said, coming behind the lady and pressing the blade to her throat. “Scars can look so ugly on a woman. Do you not think?”

Lady Cornell gulped and stuttered.

Ross’ gaze moved to a point beyond Estelle’s shoulder, and fear flashed in his eyes.

“Drop the knife, miss.” The man’s voice was firm, eloquent.

Estelle heard the clip of numerous booted footsteps. A man with spectacles and a pointed ginger beard stepped into her field of vision, accompanied by Mr Joseph.

Estelle lowered her arm and let the knife fall to the floor.

Lady Cornell stumbled forward, panting and clutching her throat. “Thank heavens you arrived when you did.” She swung around and pointed at Estelle. “That woman attacked me and shot my husband out of some misguided sense of spite and jealousy. She wants locking up in Bedlam.”

Wickett approached along with two other men. He inclined his head to Ross, and somehow the silent communication wiped the look of fear off Ross’ face.

“I’m Sir Malcolm Forston, chief magistrate” — the gentleman drew his fingers down the length of his beard — “and I must inform you that we heard everything from our position on the stairwell.” He waved his hand to one of the men hovering behind and pointed at Lord Cornell. “Attend to the victim, Withers.”

Lady Cornell’s countenance turned deathly pale. “I don’t know what you think you heard, but I can tell you—”

“I saw you shoot the gentleman,” Mr Joseph said. “I read the letter you sent to Lord Trevane asking him to meet you here.”

Ross had left the letter in the carriage. Wickett must have shown it to him.

“I drew the knife because I thought Lord Trevane’s life was in danger,” Estelle said, feeling the need to explain her aggressive actions. “I was waiting outside with Mr Joseph when I grew fearful for his lordship’s welfare.”

Sir Malcolm’s gaze drifted to the decorative necklace on the table. He ventured over and ran his fingers over the gems.

“Take Lady Cornell into custody, Johnson.”

“No! Wait!” Lady Cornell cried. “Do you know who I am? You can’t do this.”

Johnson came forward. “Yes, Sir Malcolm.”

But Lady Cornell punched and kicked out until he had no choice but to restrain her.

“If the devil won’t keep still put her in chains,” Sir Malcolm said with an air of frustration.

Wickett offered his assistance, and after another violent scuffle, Johnson finally led Lady Cornell away amid a cacophony of blasphemous curses.

“Well, Withers?” Sir Malcolm said, staring at the body on the floor. “Will he live? Can we question him?”

Ross coughed into his fist. “While I have no regard for Lord Cornell, the man has been shot. Must you take his statement now?”

Sir Malcolm raised a brow. “I’m afraid the law is intolerant when it comes to showing compassion to criminals, my lord. The man is a jewel thief. Evidence of his crime is there on the table. Forgive me, but I would like to know details of any accomplices if he’s not long for this world.”

Ross’ mouth fell open. “A jewel thief? Lord Cornell?”

“That is what the facts suggest. Your man, Mr Joseph, is the one who made the discovery and so the Crown is indebted to you.” Sir Malcolm inclined his head. “Now, I will require a statement regarding the events of the evening. But for now, you’re both free to leave.”

A look of suspicion marred Ross’ features. “Do you not need me to fetch a doctor?”

Sir Malcolm shook his head. “Withers here was trained by the Surgeon General during the Peninsular War when the medical teams were severely understaffed. It was enough to deter him from the profession, but he can be called upon on occasion to remove a lead ball if need be.”

Clearly, Sir Malcolm wanted them out of the way. The thefts appeared to be more important to him than attempted murder.

Ross inclined his head. “Then we shall leave you to your work.”

Ross offered Estelle his arm, and they walked out of the museum with Wickett in tow.

“We should have a doctor look at the knife wound to your stomach,” Estelle said.

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “You can tend to it for me.” From his blunt tone, and stone-like countenance, he was not himself.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Angry? No. Livid? Most definitely. One mistake and that woman would have taken your life.”

“Where to, my lord?” Wickett said as they approached the carriage, unaware of their little spat.

“I imagine Miss Darcy is keen to return to Whitecombe Street,” Ross said. “I’m sure the people who care about her would like to know she is safe.”

“I shall tend to his lordship’s scratch before we set off.” It would leave more time on the journey home to work on soothing his temper. Else he might seek to take his frustration out on rogues in an alley. “And then you may head to Whitecombe Street.”

“Right you are, miss.” Wickett opened the carriage door and gave a knowing grin. “Shall I take the scenic route? Happen there’s a lot to discuss, considering what happened in the museum.”

“Yes, Wickett,” Estelle said, trying not to look at Ross as she could feel her cheeks flame. “His lordship has a voracious appetite for conversation.”