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In the end, Selina was his last hope for insight. The sooner he returned to the palace and connected with the marchioness, the better for all involved. But any thoughts of a quick departure fled when he marched back upstairs and saw Hodges holding a leather-bound book in his hand.

“Found this tucked behind a false back on the bottom shelf. Well made. Near missed it myself.” Hodges passed the book over to Peregrine.

A hidden ledger? Peregrine sent a hope to the heavens that Goldbourne was exactly the sort of little toad one might expect—a man who would keep enough track of his dirty dealings that he could ensure his own protection. Together they went to Goldbourne’s desk to examine it.

Peregrine shoved aside the remaining papers, clearing space at the center of the desk.

The book opened easily, revealing pages filled with records of transactions.

He ran a finger down one page, spotting a few lines that he thought might be some of the private companies from his own investment list. He would have to ask his solicitor to be certain.

Why hide a ledger of investments? Such things would be common in a bank. There had to be something else contained with the pages. He flipped past the rows of incomings and outgoings until he stumbled across something different.

“What’s that?” Hodges asked, looking over Peregrine’s shoulder.

“A list of names with numbers next to them.” Peregrine leaned closer. “All members of the Tory party. What do you think these numbers represent?”

The numbers were all three digits long. Some names had one number beside them, others had as many as five numbered items assigned to their name. One name leapt out at him from the page.

Lord Vesey, the older brother of the man currently hiding in Peregrine’s townhouse.

“Could these be the numbers for counterfeit bills?” he asked Hodges.

Hodges scratched his chin. “Bill numbers run longer, but if they printed ’em in batches, guess they wouldn’t need the whole thing writ down. ”

Peregrine checked the rest of the ledger, but the final pages were blank. He flipped it shut and moved to the window.

Below, the street carried on—carriages crawling past, wagons trundling forward, pedestrians darting through every gap like practiced machinery. A system, moving parts. Just like the funds in Goldbourne’s ledgers.

How many people were receiving dividends from fake companies in the ledger? And those numbers, did that mean even more Tories were holding counterfeit funds? Whatever the truth, he had to unmask it, because the fate of the nation might well depend upon it.

And there it was again. Fate .

Charity’s cruel mistress seemed to be mocking him for his disbelief. No matter how he tried to deny her power, she visited him again and again, claws outstretched.

It was a behaviour not unlike the Queen’s.

Despite their current truce, Peregrine knew he was going to have to tempt her ire again.

He was not going to hand the ledger over to anyone else.

Not until he was certain what those names and numbers meant.

Especially not if he, too, was going to be implicated, simply because he had ended up listed as an investor in the fake companies.

He did not trust Charlotte’s amiability to not be fickle, especially if she needed a convenient person to blame. It was wise to be prepared to defend himself, in case she turned on him.

“Take this back to the estate and put it somewhere safe,” he said, handing the ledger to Hodges.

“What about you?” Hodges asked.

“I will return to the palace. Selina needs to know that Goldbourne’s dead. She is best positioned to suggest where we look next.”

Hodges shoved the ledger inside his coat, gave Peregrine a nod in goodbye, and left him there .

Perry gave the room a final glance, then stepped out into the corridor just as the guard captain was coming up the stairs. “We’ve rounded up the staff and are taking statements. Mr Hartwell—the other partner—is en route to Whitehall for questioning, under escort.”

“Can you spare a horse? I need to return to the palace.”

“Of course, my lord. Sergeant Ives’s mount is yours. He’ll accompany the body to the coroner.”

The sergeant’s gelding was steady enough, though he danced a bit as Peregrine swung into the saddle. Perry tugged the reins firmly, clicked his tongue, and pressed his heels lightly to the horse’s flanks. The animal surged forward into a clean canter, weaving neatly around carts and slower riders.

He was a good mount, however spirited. It made for better time than a carriage, but even so, the sight of St James’s columned facade brought relief. That relief soured quickly when he spotted Ravenscroft in the courtyard, shouting orders at a trio of footmen.

Ravenscroft could be rather sensational, but Peregrine had never seen the man lose his composure so thoroughly. Whatever had happened was worse than expected, and a surge of misgiving chilled the pit of his stomach.

He reined in the horse sharply and swung down, his boots crunching on the pebbled drive. Without breaking stride, he marched up to Ravenscroft. “What happened?”

Lord Ravenscroft spun to Peregrine, his face pale. And that’s when Peregrine knew.

“ What happened ? Where is she?” he asked again. A tightness squeezed around his lungs, and his ears began ringing.

“I do not know. The duchess, she is gone.”

Peregrine moved forward without a conscious thought, his long legs taking him to the carriage parked further ahead.

The door hung open like an entrance to a nightmare.

Streaks of blood painted the walls and floor of the carriage.

The rear seat was scored by a terrible rent, its stuffing bursting free.

“Perry. Perry. Are you all right?” Lord Ravenscroft shook him by the shoulder lightly as they stared into the damaged carriage.

Peregrine’s throat ached so fiercely, he wasn’t sure whether or not he had held back the urge to scream his rage at the sight of it.

Fisting his hands, he held onto his senses by sheer force of will.

And he made himself look at it, taking note of everything that this carriage both said—and didn’t say.

The blood was horrifying, but there was not that much. It might not even be hers. And the ruination of the cushions was theatrical. Like a message. A gauntlet thrown.

He was certain Charity was still alive… at least for now. But right now he could take little comfort from that fact. The bounty on her head was there, waiting for someone to claim it. And their other enemies had a reason to toy with them both.

Peregrine was supposed to protect her. He had promised her that she would be safe.

And not since Grenville had he felt this keenly that he had failed someone so utterly.

It was worse than standing in the fields of the dead, waiting for a bullet to catch him at the Nive.

Worse than discovering that he had been blind to his mother’s evil for the first twenty years of his life.

Because now it was Charity. And he deserved the blame for oh, so many reasons. But the most damning one was that he had let her go alone, trusting another’s escort when he knew that no one else should be trusted.

And what will you choose to do now, I wonder?

That traitorous harpy, Fate, mocked him now in his mother’s voice, already knowing the answer. It did not matter what it cost him. He was going to convince Red Hand to do him a favour.

He spun, nearly knocking over Ravenscroft. The magpie stumbled out of his way, but then grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving .

“Perry? Wait. Where are you going? Are you not going to speak with the Queen?”

“Back to my estate. To get Hodges. I have a new friend who might be able to help us, but time is of the essence.” Peregrine shook himself free of Ravenscroft and sprinted over to the sergeant’s horse, galloping out of the palace gates without so much as a backwards glance.