“This is Miss Hartley,” Lady Emeline said coolly. “Mr. Hartley’s sister.”

“Miss Hartley.” Vale nodded, urbane even when accused of treason. “Why don’t you two go back into the house and enjoy the ball?”

Sam nearly groaned. Didn’t Vale know anything about women?

Lady Emeline smiled tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I believe I will stay here.”

Vale opened his mouth again, the fool.

“I’ll stay, too,” Rebecca said before Vale could speak.

Everyone swung in her direction. Rebecca’s cheeks pinkened, but she tilted her chin defiantly.

Lady Emeline cleared her throat. “We’ll just sit here.”

She marched to a marble bench set against the railing. Rebecca followed her. Both ladies sat down, crossed their arms, and assumed nearly identical expressions of expectation. In any other circumstances, it would’ve been funny. Damn. Sam raised an eyebrow at Vale.

Who shrugged helplessly. God only knew where the man got his reputation as a rake.

The footman returned with a glass of wine on a tray. Samuel took it and sipped. He spat the first mouthful over the rail into the bushes before downing the rest of the glass, feeling marginally better.

Vale cleared his throat when the footman had left. “Yes, well. Where did this letter you have come from? How are we to know it wasn’t forged?”

“It’s not forged,” Sam said. He felt more than saw Lady Emeline purse her lips. How dare she sit in judgment of him? “I received it from a Delaware Indian—he’s part English on his mother’s side. The man is a friend I’ve known for many years.”

“That strange little Indian who came to visit you at your place of business last spring!” Rebecca exclaimed. “I remember now. He was in your office when I went to bring you your luncheon.”

Sam nodded. His offices were near the docks in Boston, a place his sister didn’t usually visit. But that day he’d forgotten the basket that Cook had packed for his luncheon, and Rebecca had fetched it for him.

“You were so distracted afterward,” Rebecca murmured. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. As if he were a stranger. “And angry. You were in a black mood for days. Now I know why.”

Sam frowned, but he couldn’t address his sister’s worry right now. He looked at Vale. “Coshocton—the Indian—obtained the letter from a French trader who had been living among the Wyandot. It was the Wyandot who attacked us.”

“I know that,” Vale retorted. “But how do you know it was someone from our side who wrote the blamed thing? It could’ve been a Frenchie or—”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “It was written in English. And besides, whoever wrote it knew too much. You remember that our march to Fort Edward was secret. Only the officers and a few of the trackers knew we marched instead of taking canoes down Lake Champlain.”

Vale stared. “The lake passage was the more usual way, I remember.”

Sam nodded. “Anyone hearing where we were headed would assume we went by water, not land.”

Vale pursed his lips, then seemed to come to a decision. “See here, Hartley. My debt was high, I don’t deny it, but I was quite able to pay it.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Were you?”

“Yes. In fact, I did.”

Sam stared. “What?”

“I quietly paid the debt to Clemmons’s estate.” Vale glanced away as if embarrassed. His voice was gruff. “Least I could do, don’t you know, under the circumstances. Doubt any of the men you talked to knew that, but you can contact my solicitors if you wish. I’ve got the papers to prove it.”

Sam closed his eyes. His head was pounding, and he felt like an idiot.

“Who else had reason to betray the company of soldiers besides Jasper?” Lady Emeline asked quietly. “Because I’ve known Jasper all my life, and I cannot believe he would do something that would end in Reynaud’s death.”

Viscount Vale grinned. “Thank you, Emeline, although I notice you don’t acquit me of treason.”

She merely shrugged.

“But she’s right.” Vale sobered. “I didn’t betray the regiment, Hartley.”

Sam stared at the aristocrat. He didn’t want to believe him; he’d come all the way to England because he’d been looking for answers. He’d hoped Vale would be the key to everything. That he could finally put Spinner’s Falls to rest. But any motive for Vale to have betrayed the regiment seemed to have evaporated. Besides, he knew now in his gut that Vale wasn’t the traitor. And if he hadn’t had his gut telling him Vale was innocent, there was Lady Emeline. She trusted the man, damn him.

Lady Emeline got to her feet and shook out her skirts. “I believe that means someone else is the traitor, doesn’t it?”

“YOU SHOULD RETURN to the festivities,” Emeline told Jasper. “Rebecca and I are more than ready to return home.”

She didn’t include Samuel in her words, but he was the one she was most worried about. He no longer wavered as he stood, but his face was still pale and shining with sweat.

But she made sure not to look at him as she addressed Jasper. She knew that Samuel wouldn’t welcome her solicitation in front of another man. “I don’t think it wise to go through the ballroom again—Rebecca has had enough excitement for the night. I’ll send word to Tante Cristelle to meet us in front of the house, and we can walk around by the mews.”

“Non.”

Emeline jumped and whirled at the single word. Her nerves were obviously more ragged than she’d thought.

Tante Cristelle stepped from the shadows near the doors. “Inside they whisper of two gentlemen arguing.” She scowled at the gentlemen, though only Jasper had the grace to look ashamed. “Therefore, I shall remain and put the gossip to rest. I shall have a footman summon the carriage to the mews.”

“But how will you return home?” Emeline asked.

Tante gave an expressive shrug. “I have many of the friends, do I not? It will not be so hard to find a carriage.” She darted a glance at Rebecca, who had begun to look wilted. “You go and put all right at home, ma petite.”

Emeline smiled in weary gratitude at the old lady. “Thank you, Tante.”

Tante Cristelle snorted. “It is you who have the harder part, I think, to manage these two bulls.” She nodded and slipped back inside the ballroom.

Emeline squared her shoulders and turned back to her bulls.

“I’ll escort you to your carriage.” Jasper was already holding out an arm for her, and she took it, chiding herself not to feel hurt that Samuel did not do the same.

She was quiet as Jasper led her down the Westerton garden and out into the mews, conscious all the while that Samuel trailed her with his sister. As they made a streetlamp on the side road, she glanced up at Jasper. “Thank you. Make sure you don’t stay out too late.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jasper grinned down at her. “I’ll be sure to be tucked into bed before midnight. Wouldn’t want to turn into a pumpkin.”

Emeline wrinkled her nose in exasperation at Jasper’s careless reply. That only made him smile wider. The carriage came rattling around the corner.

Emeline said hastily, “I’d like you and the Hartleys to come to tea tomorrow at my house so we can discuss all of this further.” It wasn’t a very graceful invitation; she didn’t even look at Samuel or Rebecca, though they must have heard.

Jasper quirked an eyebrow at her. He might act comical at times, but that didn’t mean he took orders from her. For a moment, she held her breath.

Then he smiled again. “Of course. Sleep well, my sweet.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips over her temple. Jasper had kissed her like this dozens, perhaps hundreds of times, in the years they’d known each other. But this time, Emeline was conscious that Samuel was standing somewhere behind her in the dark, watching. She felt strangely flustered, which was nonsense. She owed the colonial nothing—less than nothing since it appeared that Jasper had been his target all along.

“Good night, Jasper.”

He nodded and then turned to Samuel. “Tomorrow, then?”

Samuel didn’t smile, but he inclined his head. “Tomorrow.”

Jasper gave an ironic salute and then strolled off down the street. Despite her admonition to return to the ball, apparently he had other plans. But that was none of her business. Emeline shrugged and turned, only to find that Samuel was much closer behind her than she’d expected.

She pursed her lips. “May we leave now?”

“As you wish.” He stepped aside and gestured to the waiting carriage steps.

Emeline was forced to brush against him to climb the steps. Which was what he intended, no doubt. Men could be so transparent when they wanted to show mastery. As she mounted the first step, she felt his hand grasp her elbow. His body was right behind hers, almost indecently near. She darted a look at him, and his mouth twitched.

Awful man.

Emeline settled herself in the carriage seat and watched as he knocked on the roof and sat down next to his sister.

She looked thoughtfully at the fading bruises on his jaw. “You were in a fight recently.”

He merely raised his eyebrows.

She pointed with her chin. “Those marks on your jaw. Someone hit you.”

“Samuel?” Rebecca was staring at her brother, too, now.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“You keep so much of yourself hidden from me, don’t you?” Rebecca whispered. “Most of yourself, in fact.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Becca—”

“No.” She turned her face to the window. “I’m too tired to argue tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Rebecca gave a great sigh as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. “I didn’t even get to dance.”

Samuel looked at Emeline as if for help, but she was no more in sympathy with him than his sister. She stared out the black window, watching her own reflection. She noticed that the small lines about her mouth made her look particularly old tonight.

They traveled the remainder of the journey home in silence, the carriage rocking and swaying as it rattled through the nighttime London streets. By the time they pulled up in front of her house, Emeline felt stiff and sore and as if she’d be quite happy never to attend another ball in her life. The carriage door opened, and the footman pulled down the metal steps. Samuel got out and helped his sister descend. Rebecca didn’t wait but immediately ran up the steps to her brother’s town house and disappeared inside. Samuel stared after her, frowning, but didn’t move to follow. He held out his hand to Emeline.

She inhaled and carefully placed her fingertips in his. Despite her precaution, he pulled her close as she stepped down.

“Ask me in,” he murmured as she passed him.

Cheek! She made the cobblestones in front of her own home and attempted to withdraw her hand. He wouldn’t let her. She raised her head and met his eyes. His were slightly narrowed, his mouth a determined horizontal line.

“Mr. Hartley,” she said coldly. “Will you come inside for a moment? I have a painting in my sitting room that I would like to have your opinion on.”

He nodded and released her hand. But he followed her closely as she mounted the steps to her house, as if he suspected a trick.

Inside, Emeline gave her wrap to Crabs. “Prepare the sitting room, please.”

Crabs had been with her since before her marriage, and in all those years, Emeline had yet to see him surprised. Tonight was no different.

“My lady.” The butler snapped his fingers, and two footmen ran to begin lighting candles and setting the fire.