James banked the fire in the hearth, blew out the candles, and bid a silent farewell to Cousin Edward and to all the cousins. He’d hoped to play out the game a little longer, but a smart man knew to put safety ahead of wealth. He donned his coat and hat, took up his walking stick, and made his way down the corridor, past the snoring watchman, and into his own office.

He had no warning that anything was amiss—and why should it be? The moment he opened the door, he perceived that a room that ought to have been in pitch darkness was illuminated by a pair of carrying candles on the mantel. His first thought was that a charwoman had carelessly left lamps behind, but then a movement caught his eye.

“I know you.” The man at James’s desk was vaguely familiar, though not a bank employee. “What the hell are you doing in my office plundering bank records after hours, trespassing, sneaking about, and doubtless thieving from your betters?”

A memory came to James of a pub, a fellow down on his luck who knew a bit too much about the bank’s troubles. Instinct had warned James away from that man—he’d been too honest, too knowledgeable about criminal logic, as a thief-taker would be—and here he was.

Where he should have never been.

“Mr. Edwards.” The fellow rose. “Jackson Naylor at your service. What a strange hour for you to be attending to bank business. Perhaps you can explain why the false bottom in your desk drawer conceals nearly two thousand pounds in banknotes?”

“Naylor, is it now?” James spat. “This is a bank, exactly where most prudent people choose to store their money, myself included. The more pertinent inquiry is whether your affairs are in order, because I will most assuredly be summoning the watch and informing the authorities of your criminal activities. Bank robbery is a capital offense.”

Naylor lounged back on the cushioned seat. “You won’t find a bent copper in my pockets, Mr. Edwards, but His Grace of Elsmore will be very interested in your little personal account book. You should never have kept it here, but then, you should not have been stealing from family.”

“His Grace of Elsmore will see you hanged,” James said, taking a firm grip of his walking stick. Naylor appeared unarmed, but a knife was always a possibility. “And don’t think he can’t see it done quietly. A duke’s consequence is vast, and even Newgate will respect his wishes when it comes to ending your existence.”

Naylor peered upward, at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. “You steal from family, but I am to be hanged, and Elsmore is to bribe the magistrates to see it done—do I have that right?”