“I’ll tell you what,” Reese began, pretending concern. “I will stop by the shop myself later today and check that the locks are secure. If there’s any sign that the property has been disturbed or any clues that would lead me to believe a clandestine meeting has taken place there, I shall inform you at once. Perhaps we can uncover the mastermind behind this plot to emasculate the men of London.”

“I would appreciate that.” Singleton exhaled as though he was relieved to have finally found an ally. “I’m hosting a ball tonight,” he said. “You should put in an appearance.”

At Sophie’s engagement ball? He’d rather be chained to a rock and have his liver eaten by an irate eagle. “Thanks, but I do my best to avoid balls and social engagements in general.” Reese leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “May be so bold as to make a suggestion?”

The marquess nodded warily. “Of course.”

“I would not discuss your suspicions or share the contents of the journal with anyone else—not until we’re able to gather conclusive evidence. If the women realize that we’re close to uncovering their scheme, they’ll simply go, well, farther underground. Besides, we don’t want to falsely charge anyone—especially the person who is close to you.”

“True, true,” Singleton said, frowning. “Although time is of the essence.”

“I feel certain we’ll get to the bottom of the matter quickly,” Reese assured him. “Maybe even before tonight.”

“That would be helpful.” The marquess cast a distasteful look at the journal, then tucked it back into his jacket pocket. He stood and shook Reese’s hand. “Thank you, Warshire.”

Reese nodded and walked with him as he shuffled out of the room. “Glad to be of assistance.”

Halfway to the door, the marquess froze, his boots nailed to the floor. “One more thing,” he said, turning to Reese. “Would you happen to know a woman with the first name Sophie? A cousin or other family member, perhaps? Maybe even a member of your staff?”

Reese kept his face impassive, paused for several seconds, then shook his head. “It’s hardly an unusual name, but no. I’m afraid I don’t have much family, and I’m not aware of anyone on my staff who goes by Sophie. Why do you ask?”

Singleton pressed his lips into a thin line. “Let’s just say that the name appears quite often in here.” He tapped the journal in his chest pocket. “I’d wager that finding this particular Sophie is the key to unlocking all the secrets of the Debutante Underground—and putting an end to its twisted sorcery.”

Shit. Reese scrambled for something, anything, to plant a seed of doubt in Singleton’s feeble mind. Shrugging, he said, “I suspect that an organization as devious as this one could use code names to protect their identities.”