Stephen returned to Rothburne House the next morning, his eyes blurring with exhaustion. He’d kept an all-night vigil in Nigel’s study, leaving only when he’d heard Emily’s uncle returning. Damn her for not trusting in him. When all of this was over…

It was difficult to even imagine the future since he’d lived with the danger for so long. Someone had murdered Hollingford, and Stephen no longer believed it was because of the man’s debts or stolen money.

Daniel had known something. Likely he had discovered the opium smuggling, but all records of the cargo and stolen profits had been eradicated.

Somewhere, there existed a list of investors. And among them was the man he sought, a man who didn’t want his involvement revealed.

Stephen sipped at a cup of strong tea and only glanced up when his father entered the drawing room. Alfred did not look well, his hair shot with grey, heavy lines drawing down the corners of his mouth.

“Your mother told me that woman has returned to London,” his father remarked.

“My wife, you mean.”

Alfred cleared his throat, adding, “Her uncle intends to escort her to Lady Thistlewaite’s soirée tonight. I thought I should warn you of the gossip.”

Stephen rose and went to stand by the fire, staring at the coals glowing on the hearth. He hoped that Emily would abide by his orders and remain at Nigel’s home where she would be protected.

“Thank you for your concern. But I have other, more pressing things on my mind than what a flock of gossiping matrons are discussing.” He stoked the flames, watching the sparks rise up. “I suppose you should know that your own residence is no longer safe. I was nearly poisoned yesterday.”

His father stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Stephen explained about the cat and the biscuits. He added, “I believe that whoever keeps trying to kill me is the same person responsible for stealing the profits from The Lady Valiant.”

“Have you any suspicions?”

Stephen replaced the poker and shrugged. “A few. But no proof.”

“Quentin might be able to help.”

Stephen looked up sharply. “Quentin was involved in this?”

“He lost a great deal of money in the shipment. My money.” The marquess grimaced, muttering about his brother’s irresponsible ways. Stephen no longer heard the words. Quentin had mentioned financial problems, even teasing about Stephen’s death. Had there been a darker meaning beneath it? He simply couldn’t believe it.

“Where is he now?”

“I’m not certain. I thought he said he was going to pay a call upon Lord Carstairs.” The marquess cleared his throat. “I am hoping he’ll develop an interest in Miss Hereford. Perhaps we might bring her into the family yet, since you insist upon keeping that creature as your wife.”