“Aye, that I did. Been meanin’ to tell ye, but ye’ve been busy with yer ’usband. Both McGregor and Lord Collins went to the same gamin’ ’ells. Lord Collins lost a goodly sum o’ money to ’is lordship just afore ’e left for ’Olland. ’Ere, milord, ye’d best sit down, ye’re lookin’ right green what with all the blood splashed around everywhere.” Crouch grabbed Lord Beverly’s arm and helped him (despite the latter’s protests) over to a distant rock.

Charlotte turned her attention back to her brother, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. She knew there must be a reason why both Batsfoam and Crouch were leaving her alone with her brother—clearly she was expected to worm an admission out of him. Thank heavens she had read so many gothic novels—she knew all about how one went about getting a villain to admit his guilt, and if there was anyone who fit the villainous character role, it was her brother. “Which brings up the question again, Matthew: How did you pay off your debt five years ago?”

“That, my dear, you will never know.”

Charlotte cast a glance down at her husband’s still form, then lifted her head to smile her most winsome smile. “Come, Matthew, we are alone here. Dare and McGregor cannot hear us, and I cannot testify against you. Satisfy my curiosity. Tell me how you settled that debt. Tell me what your role is with Geoffrey McGregor.”

Lord Collins laughed and slid a sly glance over to where Batsfoam knelt some twenty paces away, ostensibly examining McGregor’s body. Collins leaned toward his sister, his voice low and cold. “As you have asked so nicely, my dear, I will answer your question. There’s nothing either of them can do to me now, and I certainly will stand in no jeopardy even should you tell the truth, for no one will believe the deranged ravings of my mentally distraught sister.”

Charlotte tightened her lips, but held her tongue. Villains, she knew, simply could not resist gloating about their supposed cleverness. Thus far, Matthew was acting exactly as she expected.

“The debt you mention was owed to Geoffrey McGregor, who was, in fact, the real Lord Carlisle, but when Father refused to make good the debt, I did the only thing I could—I paid off a captain to make sure Carlisle wouldn’t see England again, thus eliminating my unfortunate obligation to him. I hadn’t expected the bastard to return.”

“Why not?” she asked, wondering how she could be related to such a coldhearted, monstrous man.

“Few men survive being pressed into the merchant ship Carlisle ended up on; the captain is known for his particularly harsh methods of instruction.”

The words came from behind Charlotte. She smiled as her brother’s eyes opened wide, his wet lips sputtering objections as Dare took his place at her side, sliding his arm around her waist in a gesture that was both affectionate and protective.

“That is an understatement if I ever heard one,” Geoffrey McGregor, Lord Carlisle, said with a wry twist to his lips, as he, too, cast aside the blanket covering him and stood up.