Stephen kept his face neutral, wondering just why Carstairs was so interested in a list of names. He ventured a guess. “The investors in The Lady Valiant, you mean?”

“Yes, of course.” Carstairs’s eyes narrowed. “Have you any idea of where Hollingford kept his records? Did you send men to his residence?

“No. I’ve only just returned to London.” From the desperate tone in the viscount’s voice, Stephen suspected there was more to the stolen shipment. “Has something else happened?”

“I’ve received notes of a threatening nature in the past few weeks. He wants a thousand pounds, or he’ll harm my family.” Carstairs slammed down the glass, anger glinting on his face. “I couldn’t pay if I wanted to. I was relying upon the profits from that shipment.”

The revelation of financial problems made Stephen even more cautious. “Why would he target you for blackmail?”

“I don’t know.”

But Stephen didn’t believe him. He said nothing else, waiting for Carstairs to reveal more. The viscount tossed back the remainder of the brandy.

“One last matter, Whitmore. You should straighten your collar. Someone might see.”

“See what?”

With a twisted smile, Carstairs unbuttoned his cuff and raised his sleeve.

There, upon his forearm, was a black tattoo exactly the shape of his own.

Chapter Eleven

Stephen handed his cloak to one of the servants and walked upstairs. In his hands, he held the dancing slippers Emily had hidden behind a potted plant.

Ever one to break the rules, that was his wife.

But he’d frightened her tonight, somehow. When he’d shown her his desire, she’d fled, as though he’d asked her to lie with him in the flower garden.

When he reached the landing, he wondered where she had chosen to sleep. Tonight, something had changed between them. For the first time, she’d kissed him. It was the last thing he’d expected, especially after such a grueling night.

He didn’t like the way she’d been treated. More than one heartless matron had trod upon her tender feelings. He blamed himself for not interfering. And yet, he couldn’t remain at her side the way he wanted to. If he even hinted that he cared about Emily, he endangered her.

For all he knew, the man behind the attacks might have been present at the ball. It might even be Carstairs himself. The viscount had most definitely played a part in the shipment. But was he a threat? The tattoo suggested he was not.

He heard the low cry of a child from one of the rooms and decided to quiet the guilty party.

Opening the door, he saw a downy head lift from the two wingback chairs pushed together. It was the infant girl. Stephen couldn’t remember if Emily had ever mentioned her name. He realized he should have purchased a cradle for the baby, long before now.