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G raham'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."

"I don’t threaten people and I wouldn't resort to arson, for god’s sake." He hands tightened into fists.

Beck made a noncommittal sound, jotting something in his notebook. "All the same, please account for your whereabouts between one and four o'clock this morning?"

"I was with my solicitor until nearly three, then visiting some associates." The truth sounded damningly vague even to his own ears.

Beck looked less than convinced. "Will any of these associates vouch for this?"

Graham hesitated. What could he say? Jimmy "Three-Thumbs" worked the docks when he wasn't picking pockets, Susanna O’Leary knew half the city’s secrets for the price of a pint, and Gavin White ran his empire from the back room of a betting house.

None were the sort of allies one brought into the light—especially not in front of the Royal Exchange.

His silence was answer enough.

The investigator let the conversation lull—a typical trick to get someone to reveal something. Graham met the man’s gaze and held his peace.

Eventually, Beck asked,“Do you normally take tea with your associates in the middle of the night?”

"I was gathering information about Baron Hollan's dealings to utilize in the upcoming custody hearing." No point in lying—Abigail's theory was his best chance now. "In fact, I suspect he may have orchestrated this fire himself."

Beck's pen paused mid-stroke. "That's a serious accusation, Your Grace."

"It's a serious matter." Graham leaned forward. "Has he made an insurance claim yet?"

Beck's face hardened. "I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of any potential claim."

"Of course you aren't," Graham said, impatience creeping into his tone. "But perhaps you might consider investigating his financial situation. The timing of this fire is remarkably convenient for a man with mounting debts and a court case tomorrow."

Beck considered this. "Rest assured, Your Grace, I examine every angle in my investigations. Including the movements of all interested parties on the night in question."

Graham's mouth tightened. He'd walked into a trap. Each word he spoke seemed to entangle him further.

I should have gone on that damned picnic.

"I understand you're doing your job, Mr. Beck. I simply want the truth to come to light."

"The truth," Beck said, his voice soft but sharp, "has a way of surfacing, regardless of who tries to bury it."

The implication hung between them, as tangible as the smoke still rising from the ruins.

Beck held Graham’s gaze for a beat longer, then turned to the constable at the perimeter. “Bring her over.”

The constable nodded and signaled toward the edge of the crowd. A woman—small, wiry, and bristling with purpose in a faded dress and shawl—began making her way toward them.

As she drew closer, her eyes locked on Graham."That's him!" she declared, pointing a finger straight at him. "That's the man I saw!"

Graham stiffened. “What is this?” he demanded.

The woman ignored him, speaking directly to Beck. “Mr. Beck, sir, that’s him. I swear on me mother’s grave.”

Graham's blood ran cold. "That's absurd. I was nowhere near this area."

Mrs. Cartwright's eyes narrowed. "Begging your pardon, sir, but you was. Just after midnight, pacing up and down like you was waiting for something. Looking at the warehouse, you was."

"You're mistaken," Graham said, his mouth suddenly dry. "I was across town with my solicitor at that hour."

"I know what I saw," she insisted. "My Albert works nights at the brewery, and I always wait up. Was looking out the window when I spotted you—long black doctor coat and all. Not many gentlemen doctors in these parts at that hour."

Beck was watching him with the cool assessment of a predator who had just cornered his prey. His gaze flicked to Graham’s long black physician’s coat that he still preferred to ducal finery.

"It wasn't me," Graham said flatly. "And I can prove it. My solicitor, Mr. Nedley, was with me until nearly three o'clock. He'll confirm it."

"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.