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They can take every drop of mine, but not before I finish this.

Graham was already rising, his mind racing ahead to his next move. A half-formed plan was taking shape—risky, perhaps, but necessary. "Don't forget, I'm a doctor. I know how to fix bleeding."

"Good Lord. Two jokes in a single morning. What is the world coming to?" Elias said, stacking his papers. "Seriously, though. You should go home. Change your clothes. Try to look like you've slept sometime this century."

"I'll sleep when they're safe," Graham muttered and turned to leave. He carried the weight of them all—Abigail, the girls, evenhis own fractured self—like precious cargo on a storm-tossed sea.

The admiral grabbed his arm. "Be careful. Men like Hollan—men who would use children for financial gain—they're more dangerous than you think."

He paused and looked at his friend. A stillness not unlike the profound darkness in a cave settled in his chest. "You’ve miscalculated. He's not the dangerous one in this equation."

Sadness flickered across Elias’s face. "How well I know. Don't do anything rash.”

“I won’t be rash,” Graham said. “But I won’t be merciful, either.”

CHAPTER 22

Graham's coach lurched to a halt, jolting him from his calculations. Through the window, he spotted the blockade—uniformed men and sawhorses creating a perimeter around blackened timbers that stretched toward the sky like accusing fingers.

"Can't get any closer, Your Grace," the driver called down. "Fire brigade's got the whole street cordoned off."

Graham gathered his coat. "I'll walk from here.”

The air outside assaulted him with acrid remnants of smoke and wet ash. The scent transported him instantly to battlefield hospitals—the stench of cauterized wounds and burnt canvas. He paid the cabbie and fought to steady his roiling stomach, breathing through his mouth as strode toward the ruins of Hollan's warehouse.

Smoke still spiraled from the wreckage in thin, ghostly tendrils. Workers sifted through the debris, their faces smudged with soot, while a small cluster of well-dressed men conferred near what remained of the entrance.

Graham adjusted his course toward them, noting the tallest man's methodical movements as he directed the others. This would be the investigator—the man who could either confirm his suspicions or crush them entirely.

A constable stepped into his path. "No further, sir. Investigation in progress."

"I need to speak with whoever's in charge," Graham said, infusing his tone with an edge that caught men’s attention.

"And you are?" The constable looked him over with practiced indifference.

"The Duke of Eyron."

Recognition flashed in the man's eyes, followed swiftly by wariness. His gaze darted toward the group of inspectors. "Wait here, Your Grace."

The constable approached the tall man, leaning in to murmur something. The inspector straightened, turning slowly to study Graham from across the distance. After a brief conversation, he nodded and made his way over, picking a careful path through the debris.

"Your Grace," the man said, without offering his hand. He was lean to the point of gauntness, with sharp, assessing eyes that reminded Graham of a hawk. "Mr. Beck, from the Royal Exchange Assurance. I'm investigating this incident."

"Mr. Beck." Graham nodded. "I was hoping to inquire about the fire's cause."

Beck's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Were you indeed? How extraordinarily convenient. I was about to send a man to locate you."

"Is that so?" Graham asked, examining the scene with a critical eye. No arson expert, he wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but most of the activity seemed focused on the front of the building where the devastation was the most intense.

"Yes." Beck moved slightly, positioning himself to block Graham's view of the warehouse. "I have questions regarding your whereabouts last night."

He snapped his gaze back to the investigator and drew himself up. "I fail to see how that concerns you."

"Does it not?" Beck's smile was thin. "A property belonging to a man with whom you are publicly feuding burns to the ground, and you appear at the scene within hours, asking questions. I find that noteworthy."

"I had nothing to do with this fire," Graham said, keeping his voice steady despite the flare of anger in his chest.

"So you say." Beck pulled a small notebook from his inner pocket. "Baron Hollan claims you made threats. That you’d do ‘anything’ to maintain guardianship of your nieces."