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"We'll certainly speak with Mr. Nedley," Beck said, making another note. "Though it's interesting that you claim to have been with him 'until nearly three.' That leaves over an hour unaccounted for."

Graham's hands clenched at his sides. "You both are making a grave mistake."

"I know what I saw," she repeated stubbornly.

Beck closed his notebook with a snap. "Your Grace, given the seriousness of these allegations and the testimony of an eyewitness, I'm afraid I must detain you for further questioning."

"On the word of one witness who claims to have seen a man in a dark coat?" Graham protested. "That's hardly sufficient evidence."

"Perhaps not for a conviction," Beck agreed, "but it's enough to warrant further questioning. Especially given the personal nature of your conflict with Baron Hollan.” He signaled to the nearby constables. "You'll be taken to Bow Street for formal questioning. If your alibi proves true, you'll be released without charge."

"This is outrageous." Graham's mind raced. Bow Street meant hours of waiting, of questioning—hours he couldn't spare with the hearing looming tomorrow. "I am a peer of the realm. You have no authority to detain me on the word of a single witness."

It was a card he'd never played before, one that left a sour taste in his mouth. But for Abigail, for the girls, he would use every advantage.

Beck remained unmoved. "With respect, Your Grace, arson is a felony. Even peers of the realm are subject to the law when it comes to such serious crimes."

Graham's mind raced through possibilities. If he resisted, it would only make matters worse. If he went quietly, he might clear this up quickly, especially if he could get Nedley there.

"If you insist on this course, I want my solicitor present for any questioning," he said stiffly.

"Of course." Beck gestured to the constables. "Gentlemen, escort His Grace to the station. Inform the magistrate that I'll be along shortly with my preliminary findings."

The constables flanked Graham, one on each side. The trap had sprung—meticulously constructed, ruthlessly executed. Hollan had anticipated every move, laying his snares with surgical precision.

He'd stepped right into the noose—and tightened it himself.

His jaw clenched. They’d warned him. Elias, Abigail. Shame burned hot at the thought of his wife.I promised to protect you. Instead, I’ve brought more scandal to your door.

But he wasn’t finished. Not by half.

Abigail paced the length of the drawing room. The afternoon stretched before her like an endless plain, each minute an exercise in endurance. No word from Graham since his determined departure that morning. No news from Nedley.Nothing but the slow march of hours and her own restless thoughts.

On impulse, she climbed the stairs to the schoolroom, seeking the comforting chaos of the girls. Their laughter and squabbles would be a welcome distraction from the gnawing worry that had plagued her all day. Perhaps she could assist with the girls' lessons or simply bask in their chatter. Anything to quiet the tumult in her mind.

She pushed the door open and froze.

Empty.

The chairs sat vacant, books left open on the small table. A half-finished drawing of what might have been a horse—or possibly a very ambitious dogs.

"Heather? Mary Ann?" Her voice echoed in the silent room.

No answer.

The hollow pit in her stomach widened. She moved to the window, scanning the garden below. No sign of them.

"Ms. Norwood?" she called, louder now.

Still nothing.

Her pulse quickened. Graham's warnings rang in her ears.Be careful, Abigail. Hollan is dangerous in ways we're only beginning to understand.

She rushed from the room, skirts gathered in her fists as she hurried down the corridor. "Heather? Mary Ann!"

Panic clawed at her throat. She'd let down her guard, assuming they were safe within these walls. But walls could be breached, servants bribed, children lured away.

She burst into the girls' bedroom. Empty.