Daniel tapped his chin. He would have to check Carlyle’s alibi, this Freddie Marsh and the barber, but he would put Owen on that. If they verified the man’s story, he might have to cross Carlyle off his short list of suspects.

But he would reserve judgment. Carlyle might be telling the truth, but it was unlikely to be the entire truth. In his experience, people lied when questioned by the police.

For now, he must return to London and dress for tonight’s task.

Chapter 7

JULIETTE HELD THE ADMITTANCE VOUCHER to the most exclusive social club in all of London, possibly the world.

Almack’s.

“Are you ready?” Uncle Bertie asked as he swung open the carriage door.

She nodded.

For such a prestigious destination, the building was nothing to boast about. Plain brick with few adornments, a small entrance, on a narrow street off St. James’s Square.

“The dowager will meet us in the ballroom.” Uncle Bertie handed his cloak and hat to the liveried servant, who looked Bertie’s attire up and down and gave a nod of assent. It amused Juliette that there were such strict gatekeepers with the power to turn away anyone they deemed improperly dressed.

Juliette showed her ticket to the attendant, who invited her to take the staircase up to the second floor. “Enjoy your evening, milady.”

This was supposed to be a momentous occasion, her first time at Almack’s, arranged by her mother. Her mother, who was not present … again. The work in France was important, Juliette knew, but it still irked her. She hoped the objective was worth the sacrifices they were all making.

Bertie took her elbow on the stairs. “You are clear about your mission?”

“Yes.” She hadn’t forgotten the reason she was here.

“Observe. And do not ask questions that could arouse suspicion. If he’s on the dance floor, ask the dowager to introduce you. If he stays in the card room all night, I’ll watch him there.”

Her first truly social event since the Venetian breakfast, and she was right back to work looking for criminals. The life of a spy that she had willingly decided to enter was now taking shape in tangible ways. One was never away from one’s post. There was never a time when she was not gathering information, looking for subtle behavioral cues or connections that might mean something. Even a debut at Almack’s became cover for clandestine pursuits.

The target of the evening was Lord Robert Sewell, third son of an earl and an official in Customs and Excise who may have taken bribes to look the other way on importing infractions. Their task was to watch, listen, and observe with whom he made contact, as they had information that the bribe money might be paid tonight.