“But he never—” Her words broke off, and suddenly Nigel’s earlier inquiries about Royce’s inheritance made sense. Perhaps he’d been looking for Daniel’s records to cover up his own involvement in the stolen money. And maybe Royce’s bedroom truly had been searched that night.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything except, “Oh. I’m sorry to hear it.” When they switched partners for the last time, she saw that Stephen had overheard Freddie’s remark about her uncle. When she met his gaze, he seemed to understand the implications immediately. They both continued the dance until the music ended, though Emily could hardly move.

“Nigel,” she breathed. “I’ve been so stupid.” She’d been deceived by her uncle’s silver tongue, believing what she’d wanted to believe.

“We need to find him.” Stephen tucked her hand into his arm and led her through the ballroom.

Emily’s head spun as she considered the possibilities. Had Nigel arranged for Carstairs’s murder? Had he hired someone to kill Stephen?

The evidence in her bodice seared her heart. For in the papers lay the truth. The man who had taken her father’s place was the very man she never should have trusted. The floor seemed to sink beneath her feet as she slowly began to comprehend a fact far worse.

The children were at his house, even now.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Lady Whitmore,” a steely voice interrupted. It was the marquess. Merciful heaven, but she had no desire to cross swords with him now.

The marquess stepped in front of her, a general poised for battle. Emily glanced around, hoping for a glimpse of Stephen, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Good evening. Is there something you wanted?”

“You know what I want. And yet you keep insinuating yourself into places you don’t belong.”

Years of denigration and unworthiness solidified into a wave of anger. Emily snapped her fan open, trying to cool her temper before she did something rash. Calm down. He is nothing but an old curmudgeon.

“Lord Rothburne, I have no wish to be your enemy. I married your son, and I’ve every right to be here.”

“You bring shame upon him.”

“No,” she said softly, no longer caring about those around her. “You bring shame upon yourself. Perhaps it is you who should leave.”

The dance had ended, and her words echoed above the noise of the crowd. Lady Thistlewaite looked both aghast and delighted at the scene Emily was inadvertently causing.

“You mean nothing to him,” the marquess said, “and you are a fool if you believe otherwise.”

“My wife is not a fool,” her husband responded. She saw Stephen coming toward her, and at the sight of him, she took comfort in his presence.