“You?”

“Me. And as such, I have obtained certain information that may affect—”

“You—chose to work—” Flitby’s hand closed into a fist. “You would not enlist. You would not fight. You would have been thrown into prison had I not intervened. I lost Henry because of that, because of you, and now you tell me you serve your country? Now you are ready to do your duty to this family, over Henry’s corpse?”

The words rang in the air. Kim said, white-lipped, “If you listen to me now, I may be able to help Chingford.”

“You didn’t help Henry,” Lord Flitby said. “You damned him, when you would not fight, or work, or even make a decent excuse for yourself—”

“I wouldn’t start that if I were you,” Will said. “I really wouldn’t.”

Flitby turned on him with cold fury. “Be silent. Your opinion is not required.”

Will shoved himself off the wall. “No, you don’t care about the enlisted men, do you? Didn’t care what might happen when you put your heir into a Supplies post he wasn’t fit to hold. Didn’t care if men at the Front suffered or died because of what he did in that safe backroom job you got him. If you want to throw around accusations, or talk about dead soldiers—”

That was the point he realised Chingford’s jaw had dropped, and Flitby was staring at him, the colour visibly draining from his face. They both looked shocked. No, more than that: they looked afraid.

“If you want to talk about dead soldiers,” he said again, slowly, and glanced at Kim for help.

Kim was standing poised, face very still. Blank, even, in the way it went blank when his mind was working. Flitby had his lips pressed together, for control. “What do you mean?”

Will had no idea what he was supposed to have meant, so he folded his arms again and gave the Marquess a menacing look. Flitby’s gaze went to his younger son. “What do you know? What does he know?”

Kim’s stillness abruptly relaxed, and he took a pace forward. The effect was rather like a snake uncoiling to strike. “Ah. Well, sir. You understand that I can’t disclose Will’s position, or even the organisation in which he operates, and it would be highly indiscreet for me to tell you with what rank he left the military. Suffice to say his work during the war was what one might call cloak and dagger. I suggest you assume he knows everything, and has the power to act on it.”

Will had left the Army like he’d joined it, as a private, and ‘cloak and dagger’ was accurate if you meant ‘stabbing people in the dark’. Kim was a bloody twisting slippery weasel liar, and Will had to hold back a savage grin of pride.