I sighed and gave a slight nod: Too many men. Still, we had to do something. I scrunched my toes to rid my body of the abandoned plan and its desperate energy.

Two of the men, one of them Pritchard, for I had now recognized Mulholland’s henchman, had collected the Baker and pistols from Kent’s saddle and were now beside Weatherly. With a jeer, Pritchard jerked the blunderbuss from his grasp.

The man holding Evan’s horse removed the pistols from its saddle. Eight men in total, including Mulholland. Now all armed with multiple guns. Mulholland was not taking any chances this time.

“His sword too,” Mulholland instructed his man, gesturing to the saber my brother wore buckled at his waist.

“I beg your pardon!” Duffy said, drawing himself up into all of his importance. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do, my lord. Do you know who I am?”

“Of course I do not,” Duffy said with magnificent disdain.

“Allow me to remind you, then. I am James Mulholland. We met at your sisters’ house.”

Duffy frowned down at him from his saddle, recognition dawning. “The thieftaker?”

“That is correct, Lord Duffield,” Mulholland said. “Please give my man your sword.”

Since Pritchard had a pistol aimed at him, Duffy complied.

Upon seeing the last weapon collected, Mulholland strolled past Duffy. I drew a steadying breath, for he was making his nonchalant way to the side of the phaeton.

He looked up at me and bared his yellowed teeth into the wolf smile I remembered from the drawing room.

“Still not afraid, Lady Augusta?” he whispered. “You really should be.”

He continued on to Evan and murmured, “Make any move, and my men have orders to shoot Lady Augusta and Lady Julia. In the guts. As I’m sure you are aware, a very long and painful death.”

He turned back to Duffy and said loudly, “Your sister told you that this man was her groom. But he is not. He is Lord Evan Belford.”

“I am already aware of that,” Duffy said condescendingly.

“Then you must be aware he is a wanted man, my lord. I have been waiting for another chance to bring him to justice, since you interrupted my last effort.”

“Well, I was misled,” Duffy said, glancing across at me. “I do not see why you have taken my sword, Mulholland. This is a very irregular arrest.”

“Duffy,” I said urgently. “This is not an arrest. He is going to kill Lord Evan. Charles Whitmore has ordered it.”

At Whitmore’s name, Mulholland squinted up at me with an odd smile upon his face. I glared at him: Yes, Mr. Mulholland, I know it all.

“Do not be ridiculous, Augusta,” Duffy said. “Whitmore is an Oxford man and a trusted member of Liverpool’s government. You cannot fling around preposterous accusations about men of good standing.”