Page 27

EPILOGUE

O ne month later

A sea of brightly coloured gowns and dark male finery swirled around Maria, the air heavy with clean sweat, harsh perfume, and melting beeswax. It was rather like all other extravagant balls to which she had been invited, with two very large differences.

Her gaze slid across the ballroom to meet the stunning two-toned gaze of the man she’d married. To avoid the possibility of her parents refusing the marriage, they had travelled to Gretna Green and eloped. The haut ton found it all deliciously diverting.

No fewer than seven women and men surrounded Maria, each attempting to regale her with a bit of gossip or something amusing that they might have witnessed at Covent Garden, Astley’s Amphitheatre, or another such place. Their favoured topics of discussion, however, were the perfidious magistrate Ludlow Vaughan, Mr. Francis Sinclair, and their infamous trials and hangings—most notably because Francis had not been permitted to wear a hood to hide his face, in the event that he made another attempt at escape. Now they knew that he was well and truly deceased.

A servant stopped at her side, offering a flute of champagne on a tray. “Have you seen her?” she mumbled.

Maria gave a half-smile to her friend Cordelia—who had been amusingly shocked to learn that Mr. Duncan Robertson was, in fact, Miss Maria Roberts. “No,” she whispered back. “Heather says that we’ll know the signal when it comes.”

She accepted some champagne, and Cordelia silently strode away. This was the conclusion of Heather’s assignment and Cordelia’s first foray into work as a runner. So, naturally, Maria had offered her aid.

Upon their return from Gretna, Jasper had split his study in half and allowed her to redecorate her side as she wished. She’d since resumed her writing—having to begin anew with her collection of descriptions from abroad—and restarted the manuscript that had thwarted her for so many months. She rather thought that the second attempt was superior to the first.

Fingertips brushed hers just as the strains of a waltz started from the orchestra on the balcony. The touch turned to a clasp as Jasper lifted her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

“My duchess,” he murmured deeply. “Might I claim your hand for this waltz?”

Several of the woman around them sighed or flicked their fans faster.

Maria’s fingertips tingled. “I would be delighted.”

* * *

Miss Heather Morgan had planned her timing perfectly. She’d taken up a spot in a servant’s corridor with her squirming sack, waiting for the ideal moment. Her task was to orchestrate a distraction, and that was precisely what she would do.

Once the quadrille was under way, she opened the door leading into the ballroom and poured out the contents of the sack.

A shrill scream rent the air, followed closely by others. “ Rats! ”

People moved like a wave along the ballroom floor, shouting or screeching in horror as a plethora of rats bounded heedlessly through the space.

While everyone fled in one direction, Heather went in the other, slipping through an open doorway and into a rear corridor. Maria appeared at the end of the hall, a devilish smirk on her lips.

“Do you think they’re sufficiently distracted?” she asked breathlessly.

Maria rolled her eyes heavenward as they drew nearer to each other. “We merely required a few minutes’ time in order to search the earl’s study for the letters.”

“We will have plenty of time, then.”

Following the direction that the client had given them, they made their way to the study and began a search. They each took one side of the room, testing each drawer and shelf for any hidden compartments. Cordelia would, even now, be searching the earl’s bedchamber for the same letters. Lord knew if they would get another chance.

Parchment rustled behind her, and Maria exclaimed, “Here! I have them. Do you think that this is all of them?”

“I’ll make certain,” Heather said, taking the letters and waving a hand at her. “Go on now! Return to the ballroom and keep everyone busy. I will count the letters and destroy them.”

With a nod, Maria swept from the room and returned to the chaos in the ballroom.

“Six, seven…eight,” Heather whispered as she counted. The abhorrent letters were all there.

She turned toward the hearth and, for a moment, her heart all but stopped. Fire . The orange flames rippled and lapped at the coals, and her heart thudded in her ears. It was so close. The heat surrounded her, and the faint screams?—

The study door slammed open with a bang that reverberated through her chest. Pulse jumping, Heather stared wide-eyed into the furious, dark gaze of the Earl of Hanley.

“You bitch ,” he snarled, his lips curling back over yellowing, aged teeth. “I’ll tell your aunt about this, Miss Morgan.”

This was it, then. The bastard knew her name, knew her family, and had the ability to ruin her life, just as he was threatening to do to their client. Well , she mused, he’ll only ruin life for one of us.

In one swift movement, she tossed the letters into the fire, the parchment instantly catching ablaze, and curling at the ends until they were shrivelled, blackened dust. The tightness in her chest eased a fraction; at least one woman was saved from the man. Now, she merely needed to sort out how to save herself.

The earl’s gaze narrowed on her. “I’ll see to it that you regret that.”