The conviction in Niall’s voice took Brilliana completely aback. He seemed genuinely shocked by the idea of his father telling her about his . . . peccadilloes.

Well, of course he was. Men were supposed to keep each other’s salacious secrets. And a father should almost certainly keep his son’s.

“It is not a lie, I swear.” She tipped up her chin. “Perhaps you should have instructed him better not to reveal the truth.”

“It wasn’t the truth, blast it!” He looked like a pugilist staggering from a blow.

“Then why did he say it?”

Niall glowered at her. “I don’t believe he did. He wouldn’t lie like that. Not about me. Not to you. He knew how I felt about you.”

“You mean, he knew you wanted me in your bed since you apparently couldn’t get your paramour to go with you.”

She choked down bile, remembering how news of the real reason for the duel had sent her spiraling down into despair. Until then, she’d hung her hopes on Niall saving her from having to marry Reynold, but after his father had revealed the truth, she’d begun to think that Reynold might be the lesser of two evils.

“He knew I loved you,” Niall bit out.

The words sang in her . . . before she reminded herself that they were lies. “That’s not what he said. He was very kind about why there was no point in his sending on my letter, but—”

Niall pounced on that. “What letter? He never told me about a letter.”

“Well, I wrote one. Because I needed you. I met your father so I could give him the letter to send to you. But he said I had misconstrued your . . . interest in me. That sending it would be futile.”

Pure shock showed on his face. “That can’t be true.” Though he now sounded a bit less certain. “He swore he would pass on anything you gave him, any news of you.” His voice hardened into conviction. “My father was a man of honor. He always kept his word.”

That unsettled her. “Perhaps he thought he wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“He found me well enough when he sent me money. And the newspaper announcement of your bloody nuptials.”

That sparked her temper. “Are you saying he lied to me about . . . about how you felt?”

His eyes glittered at her. “I’m saying that you’re making the whole thing up to malign his character. He’s dead, after all. It’s not as if he can defend himself.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, why would I do that?”

His features looked carved from ice. “I don’t know. So you can make yourself look less like the adventuress you were, and more like my beleaguered sweetheart?”

The attack came so out of the blue that it snatched the breath from her lungs. “An adventuress! That’s what you thought of the woman you claimed to love.”

He leaned forward to stare her down. “Who married another man scant months after I left. Just today, your father told me you were ‘mad for’ Trevor.”

The very idea of Papa speaking such an untruth made her shake with fury. “So you’re listening to my father now, the man who may very well be counterfeiting banknotes, who only looks out for himself, who wants to take over Camden Hall and weasel his way into every aspect of my life.”

That seemed to bring him up short. Temporarily.

“Fine,” he said in a hard voice. “What was in this letter you wanted sent to me?”

“I thought you said there was no letter?” she spat.

He muttered a foul oath. “What do you claim was in the letter?”

She glared at him. No matter what she told him, he would gainsay it. Meanwhile, he wouldn’t admit anything about the duel, he called her a liar and an adventuress, and he acted as if she should tell him all the humiliating little details of her life, while he pretended he had never abandoned her and had never had a mistress. Well, she’d had enough of bullying men.

She’d had enough of him. “You can go to the devil, you and Lord Fulkham both.” She opened the door to the carriage. “I don’t have to put up with your plotting and scheming and this ridiculous farce of an engagement. Nothing is worth enduring your company.”

As she climbed down from the carriage, he caught her arm. “We are not finished.”

She snatched her arm free. “Oh yes, we are.”

Anger darkening his handsome features, he jumped out. “And your father? What about him?” With a glance up at the coachman, he bent to hiss, “Will you let him hang?”

Her stomach clenched. “No. I’ll simply have to find another way.”

But as she hurried into the house, she knew that finding another way was impossible. So what was she to do now?

She’d have to beg Lord Fulkham to call off this mad scheme. Surely they could put their heads together and figure out how to cut Niall out.

Because she was not putting up with him for one more moment.

Niall’s gut twisted as he watched Bree disappear into the house. He’d handled that with all the finesse of a drunk playing billiards. He should have elicited her confession with subtle questioning.

Deuce take it, he shouldn’t have tried eliciting anything! This mission wasn’t about her and him, and the fact that he’d tangled their lives up in it showed how far afield he’d gone from investigating counterfeiting.

He’d have a devil of a time explaining to Fulkham how he’d managed to alienate the one woman who could enable them to get close to Sir Oswald.

But damnation, she drove him mad!

Throwing himself back into the carriage, he ordered his coachman to drive on, then sat and stewed. How could she accuse his father of such deceit? The idea that Father had seen her and never said a word to him about it, knowing how Niall felt . . .

God rot her—his father would never have told her that the duel had been over a mistress!

Unless it was to protect Clarissa.

No, how could he believe Father would have purposely cut him off from his love?

Part of their conversation the day of his departure came to him: The last thing you need as you head off to an uncertain future is to be saddled with a wife who’s unhappy about your exile. She did you a favor, don’t you see? Now you can start life over abroad without such a burden.

Niall’s throat closed up. What if Father had decided to take matters into his own hands? To ensure that Niall wasn’t “saddled” with the wrong sort of wife?

He recoiled. It wasn’t possible. His father had promised to help her, to treat her like Niall’s fiancée. He’d sworn it.

He’d also voiced skepticism that she would rise to the occasion and follow Niall to the Continent, but still, he’d made the vow. And Father had never broken a vow.

That you know of.

Niall drew himself up. No, blast it! He refused to believe it. Just look at how Bree had refused to answer when he’d demanded to know what was in the letter. Didn’t that prove she was lying?

Or . . . protecting her dignity. Because if she really did believe that he’d fought a duel over some mistress, it was no wonder she was wary around him. And he had called her an adventuress.

He winced. He’d said things he shouldn’t have, accused her of things he wasn’t even sure she’d done. What he’d seen of her today warred with the image of her he’d built up in his head through the years.

And if she were telling the truth about the letter . . .

She couldn’t be. He must stop letting her words lodge inside his brain. Not when he had no way of confirming them.

Or—did he? Fulkham might know more about her marriage and what had precipitated it. Failing that, perhaps he could get the truth out of Sir Oswald.

That thought sobered him. He still had a mission. She probably wouldn’t tell anyone tonight that she’d jilted him. Surely she wasn’t that reckless. So he could still go to the card game later and see what he could find out.

Perhaps that would be enough to give Fulkham something to go on. Or perhaps by tomorrow she would have come to her senses and realized she had to continue with this.

Either way, he still wanted to see what he could learn from Fulkham about her marriage. And he needed to discuss the new fellow, Whiting, with the spymaster before the card game, too.

With a clear goal in mind, he sought to not think about her and her accusations and focus on the mission. He changed clothes for the evening, then headed to St. George’s. Unfortunately, Fulkham wasn’t there, but Quinn Raines was in the otherwise empty reading room, dining on a sandwich while he scanned the evening paper.

Excellent. Why not start there? At least Niall could take his mind off Bree for a while. And Raines might have a different perspective on Sir Oswald’s compatriots than Fulkham.

Being the director of his father’s bank, Raines was Fulkham’s prime suspect, although Niall thought that seemed too obvious. Yes, the man would be more than familiar with how to counterfeit a banknote, but would he really be so foolish as to risk his own reputation and that of his bank to do so?

Then again, Fulkham based his suspicions on the fact that Raines made a conscious effort to avoid him. That wouldn’t mean anything in anyone else, since the undersecretary of the foreign office would intimidate just about anyone. But Raines dealt with foreign banks regularly. One would think he’d relish a connection to the foreign office.

Niall called for a bottle of wine from the steward, then took a seat opposite Raines. “So, I hear you’ll be part of the card game at the Star and Garter tonight.”

Raines gave a start and set aside his paper. “I will indeed. You too?”

Niall nodded. “Sir Oswald invited me.”

“Ah, yes. I heard you became engaged to his daughter. You won the prize that many a bachelor has been eyeing.”

The odd trace of bitterness in his tone made Niall bite back a hot retort. “Even you?”

“Hardly. My interest lies elsewhere.” His face clouded over. “For all the good it’s doing me.”

That surprised him. Raines was an attractive enough fellow, despite the swarthy looks that came from his mother, the daughter of a Spanish count. Raines might not be English nobility, but his family held great consequence in the city. Another reason Niall wasn’t inclined to think him a counterfeiter.

“Do I know the lady lucky enough to hold your attention?” Niall asked. “Perhaps I can put in a good word.”

Raines stiffened. “I’d rather not say. Her family is unaware of my interest just now. Best to keep it that way for the moment. You understand.”

“Better than you think. And let me give you a word of advice. Don’t keep it secret too long.” Because what if, God forbid, Niall’s caution years ago had cost him his lady? What if Bree had been telling the truth? “That always ends badly.”

He must have allowed a bit too much emotion into his voice, for Raines cocked his head. “Sounds like the voice of experience.”

“You have no idea.” Swiftly, Niall changed the subject. “So, this game tonight. You’re Whiting’s partner?”

“Temporarily. While he’s been in town, his cousin has been his partner, though Pitford usually partners with Sir Oswald. Now that Whiting’s cousin abandoned him for Lyons’s ball, I told Whiting I’d step in, although I generally partner with Dunsleigh. You’ll have the advantage of me, since I assume you’ve played with your future father-in-law before.”

“Actually, no.”

That caught Raines’s attention. “Odd. He’s very clannish. Doesn’t let too many new fellows into our circle.”

“Then I consider myself lucky to be invited.”

Raines snorted. “Sir Oswald is the lucky one. I daresay he wants you for the same reason he wanted me: your deep pockets.”

“I suspect the reason is merely my new family connection to him, since my pockets aren’t as deep as I’d like. But I’m hoping to plump them up this evening.”

“Well, don’t hope too hard. Whiting is a terrific player. We both are.” Raines stated it as fact. “We’ll give you a run for your money.”

“I have a trick or two up my sleeve myself. No pun intended.”

The conversation then turned to other things. Niall itched to ask Raines about Whiting’s family connections, but aside from the fact that Raines probably didn’t know much, it was unwise to rouse the man’s curiosity, in case he had heard the gossip about Niall’s long-ago duel.

They were engaged in an amicable conversation about Spanish cuisine and where Niall might find a cook familiar with it when Raines trailed off. Niall followed the man’s gaze to see Fulkham entering the club.

Raines’s lips tightened into a grim line. “Do you know the undersecretary?”

“We’ve conversed a few times. Why?”

“What did you think of him?”

“That he’s good at what he does.”

If that alarmed Raines, he gave no sign. “No doubt he is,” he said blandly, then rose. “I’ll see you later at the game.”

The reason for the man’s abrupt departure became apparent when Fulkham approached Niall. As Raines disappeared into another room, Fulkham took the man’s seat and raised an eyebrow. “You see what I mean? Always flees when I come near him.”

“There might be any number of reasons for that. Could it have something to do with his mother’s being Spanish?”

“I doubt it. I was posted in Spain long after she married Raines’s father.” Fulkham tapped his fingers on the chair arm. “It’s odd. That’s all I’m saying.” He looked around the room, but for the moment, it was still empty. His gaze arrowed in on Niall. “So, how did it go with Sir Oswald?”

“I met him and his brother.”

“Ah, yes, Toby Payne.”

“You didn’t mention him.”

Fulkham shrugged. “He is as respectable a gentleman as his brother is not. To my knowledge, he’s never been accused of so much as one infraction, in business or otherwise. Besides, the counterfeit currency appeared weeks before he showed up in London. So I’d be very surprised if he were involved.”

“Ah. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look at him more closely.”

“By all means, keep an eye on him. I’ll see if my associates at the French embassy can tell me anything about his business affairs in Paris. After the debacle with Durand, they owe me a favor.” He drew out a cigar and lit it. “Have you had any luck in your attempt to get chummy with Sir Oswald and the rest?”

“I have. Sir Oswald invited me to their card game tonight, but it’s just four of us—him, me, Raines, and a man named Sir Kenneth Whiting.”

Fulkham started. “Where did he come from?”

“Apparently, he’s Pitford’s cousin.” Though Fulkham looked genuinely surprised, Niall fixed him with a hard glance. “Is he Joseph Whiting’s relation as well?”

“If he is, it’s a distant connection. I’ve never heard of him. But I can find out. I’m sure he’s in Debrett’s.” He gazed uneasily at Niall. “If he is connected to Whiting, you’re not going to have a problem with that, are you?”

“Not if he doesn’t. Which he may, if they were close and he’s heard that I killed his relation. Though if the latter is the case, I’m sure he’ll make that quite clear tonight.”

“Perhaps you should cancel. Wait until he’s not one of the cardplayers. Or until I can find out more about him and why he’s in town.”

“I can handle it. Besides, he’s as much a suspect as the rest. And tonight might be my only chance to play, anyway.”

A scowl knit Fulkham’s brow. “Why?”

Blast, how he hated admitting this. “I have somehow managed to . . . infuriate Mrs. Trevor. She refuses to go on with our faux engagement.”

Fulkham’s face cleared. “That was quick.”

His reaction took Niall aback. “You don’t seem upset.”

The arse had the audacity to chuckle. “I’m sure you can turn her up sweet again. As the bard said, ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’ ”

Fulkham’s mention of true love gave Niall pause. “Exactly how much do you know about my connection to Bree?”

“Bree?”

Damnation. “Just answer the question.”

Fulkham shrugged. “I know that you first met her in Bath, that you courted her secretly for months . . . that after the duel you asked her to run away with you and were refused. Temporarily, anyway.”

Niall blinked. “How the blazes did you—”

“I told you, I talked to her maid, Gilly. Though the poor woman was turned off shortly after you left England—the family couldn’t afford her anymore—she eventually married. But her husband had lost his post, so once she learned I’d be willing to get him another in exchange for her information, she was more than happy to chat away.”

His heart pounding, Niall leaned forward. “Did she happen to tell you how Bree ended up married to Reynold Trevor?”

“I didn’t ask. It wasn’t relevant. I only wanted to know about you and her.”

“God rot you, Fulkham, what good are you?” Niall muttered.

“Don’t you know?”

“No. And Bree won’t talk about it.”

“Well, you can’t blame her. Her idiot husband gambled away the family’s money, and then stumbled into a river drunk. Probably purposely.”

His blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“Rumor has it he committed suicide. Can’t be sure, though. You ought to ask Warren. He might know.”

“He might, but he’s on his honeymoon and inaccessible.” Niall swore under his breath. “What else does rumor say about her marriage?”

“You know, old chap, I was only joking about the course of true love,” Fulkham drawled, “but given your surprising interest in everything about Mrs. Trevor, perhaps I shouldn’t have been.”

“Damn you, I need to know. For the mission.”

“Right. For the mission.” Fulkham tapped his chin. “Well, it’s not widely acknowledged, but I did hear from one of my . . . er . . . lackeys that Trevor courted her for weeks. Yet she only married him after her father lost a huge amount of money to his father, Captain Mace Trevor, in a high-stakes card game. Make of that what you will.”

Niall’s heart plummeted into his stomach. “Are you saying that her father sold her to Trevor? To pay his gambling debts?”

“No. I’m only stating what I heard.”

Still, what Fulkham had heard was damning. What was more, it made perfect sense. And cast an entirely different light on her marriage. What had she said to her father, something about fulfilling her duty to the family long ago?

That scurrilous bastard. If his debts had been so massive that paying them would have crippled the family financially, and he’d forced her to . . .

Oh, God. A chill coursed down his spine. What if that had been the subject of the letter Father had refused to send for her? A plea for his help? To save her family, to save her from an arranged marriage?

No—surely she would have said something to him today, if that were the case.

Right. After he’d called her an adventuress. While she thought him a rogue who kept a mistress while begging her to run away with him. She believed he hadn’t truly intended to marry her.

At least she claimed to have believed it, based on things his father supposedly had told her. Blast it all to hell. What was he to think?

He rose. “I have to go.”

Fulkham glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s a bit early still for a card game, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It doesn’t start for three more hours.” But that wasn’t where he was going. He had plenty of time for that later. He had to talk to her. Had to find out the truth. Had to make her tell him.

“If you’re going to see Mrs. Trevor, I would advise you to tread lightly. We still need her.”

Deuce take the man for always reading his mind. “I know. That’s why I intend to, as you say, turn her up sweet. If I can.”

And if she would even see him. And talk to him.

He frowned. That might be difficult to manage. She was damned angry. And though he might deserve some of that anger, she might not let him close enough to admit it.

Then an idea came to him. “Fulkham, I need one more favor.” Picking up a sheet of St. George’s Club stationery from a nearby writing desk, he handed it to the spymaster, along with a quill. “Here’s what I want you to write. . . .”