LITMIR.BIZ

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when he desperately needed his rest and was tired of mulling over and fretting about her situation. Paying her debts had been an act of charity to himself as well as to her. How was he supposed to be on top form when he spent night after night tossing and turning? Dreaming of knotted handkerchiefs, proudly set shoulders and pretty blue eyes swirling with heart-wrenching emotion.

      The question brought her image starkly into view and he ruthlessly banished it as he sat down.

      Enough! She was not his problem!

      This case was.

      He tore a chunk of bread from the half-loaf near his elbow, sawed off a slice of ham and chewed both dispassionately as he reread the meticulous interrogation notes he had made only this morning during another interminable stint with the traitors at Newgate. Five were still pleading their innocence. One had broken and was blabbing everything he knew. Whether or not the information he had given was enough to justify lessening the man’s sentence was still in doubt. But in his experience, once a criminal committed to turning King’s evidence, they committed wholeheartedly. Tomorrow could be interesting, but he needed to be fully prepared.

      Within minutes, Hadleigh was so engrossed, the sound of a fist pummelling his front door had him jumping out of his skin. People didn’t bang on his door. Especially not this close to midnight. One of the main reasons he continued to live in bachelor lodgings at the Albany, rather than his own house less than an hour’s carriage drive from the capital, was that there was always a porter at the main entrance to dissuade unwelcome visitors from calling at unsociable hours—or any hours, for that matter—and bothering him. That was his excuse and he was sticking to it. He was a solitary beast by nature, partly because his work made it difficult to have unguarded conversations with most people and partly because he had been on his own for so long he was used to it. The Albany, close to his work, made perfect sense. That haunted house down the road didn’t.

      The fist bashed the door again, reminding him that Prescott, his valet, always took Thursday afternoons off and rarely returned before Friday morning. It also told him whoever was pummelling his woodwork with such vigour was probably known to the porter, hence he had been let in. Something important must have happened since he left chambers. ‘I’m coming!’

      He had expected it to have something to do with the government, so was not surprised when he flung open the door and Seb Leatham strode in, looking furious.

      ‘What’s happened?’ Immediately his mind went to the prisoners and his case. Experience had taught them that The Boss’s smuggling gang had no respect for the law or its institutions. Viscount Penhurst and another conspirator, the Marquis of Deal, had been brutally murdered in their cells in Newgate a few days after their sentences had been issued in case they made any final confessions. The bloodthirsty crew of assassins had also ruthlessly sent three prison guards to meet their maker that same night. It had been a grim and stark reminder of exactly how powerful the group of criminals they were dealing with were. ‘Please tell me nobody else is dead!’

      ‘Not yet. But the night is young and as I’m royally furious I shan’t rule it out.’ His friend barged past him and stalked into the only room with a light burning—Hadleigh’s study. He tossed his hat on the desk, folded his meaty arms across his chest and glared.

      ‘I am not entirely sure I follow...’

      ‘I made allowances for the Bow Street Runner.’ Seb’s eyes bored into his, his tautly controlled stance quietly terrifying. ‘After everything she has suffered, and in light of the dangerous people her husband dealt with, I reasoned the more people who had eyes on her the better.’

      He knew about the Bow Street Runner?

      Oh, dear. All ideas of anonymously appeasing his niggling conscience with a secret act of charity swiftly disappeared. ‘This is about Lady Penhurst?’

      ‘You’re damn right this is about Penny!’ One pointed finger prodded him right in the breast bone. ‘What the hell were you thinking, paying her debts off like that?’

      Confused that Seb had so swiftly traced it back to him and even more confused that the man was angry about his obvious thoughtful and noble generosity, Hadleigh grabbed the still-prodding digit and made a point of pushing it away. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I reasoned she would be pleased not to have to struggle to make ends meet after the Runner informed me she was struggling.’

      ‘Then clearly you don’t know Penny very well. And clearly you know nothing whatsoever about my wife!’ Seb began to pace, his hands waving in annoyance. ‘Good grief, man! Talk about taking a mallet to crack a nut! What were you thinking?’

      ‘After the Crown abandoned her, I was trying to help.’

      ‘Well, you’ve gone and made a splendid hash of it. What the hell am I going to tell Clarissa?’

      ‘As it was meant to be an anonymous gesture, you will tell her nothing, because it has nothing to do with her either.’

      At that, Seb finally sat down with a huff in Hadleigh’s chair and shook his head. ‘Spoken like a true bachelor. Unfortunately, as it was Clarissa who expressly asked me to investigate her best friend’s mystery benefactor, and because your ham-fisted attempt at being a Good Samaritan has spectacularly served to scare the living daylights out of both women, I have no choice but to tell her.’

      ‘Why would they be scared?’

      ‘You really have no clue, do you? Which is exactly the reason why you should leave the spying and covert machinations to us trained spies and stick to barristering.’

      ‘I don’t think barristering is an actual word.’

      ‘And still you fiddle while Rome burns!’

      ‘The Devil is in the detail...’ Words he lived by. He was good with details, although clearly he had missed one here.

      ‘Shall I spell it out to you in simple terms?’ Seb did not wait for a response. ‘Firstly, think about the particular circumstances of your good deed. Only a few months ago, that poor woman’s vile husband was arrested on charges of treason. Your own investigation linked him to a whole host of unsavoury characters. Cutthroats. Smugglers. Cold-blooded murderers. When Penny testified against him, she testified against them, too. We assume we’ve rounded them all up now that we’ve captured the ringleader—but what if we haven’t? It is entirely reasonable to assume any stragglers might have an axe to grind with her. It is one of the main reasons I actively encouraged her to assume an alias!’ He stood then and began to pace. ‘Furthermore, in paying those debts covertly, you have also alerted a very proud and determined woman to the fact she is under close watch at all times.’

      ‘A gross exaggeration. The Bow Street Runner does not watch her at all times. He has quite specific instructions as I do not want to alert her to his presence.’

      ‘That I am well aware of. Fortunately, my Invisibles have had her on continuous watch since the moment her husband was first arrested.’ And hence the reason, no doubt, that Hadleigh’s generosity had been quickly traced back to him despite his best intentions of keeping his guilty secret. The Invisible branch of the King’s Elite specialised in blending into the background and watching unseen. Worse, the angry man in front of him had personally trained every last one of them. ‘However pragmatic, logical and well meaning it was meant to be, Penny is not going to take the news well. Not when we’ve had the devil of a job keeping her near us in London and not when she was constantly watched for years on her husband’s instruction. She is adamant she is entirely done with all that nonsense going forward. And who can blame her? You should have consulted with me!’

      ‘I do not answer to you, Leatham. Or Lord Fennimore. I answer to the Attorney General.’

      ‘Did you consult the Attorney General?’

      Of course not. Had he have done, he would have been reprimanded for even considering helping a traitor’s wife. A barrister was supposed to keep his professional life entirely separate from his personal one. They wore wigs and gowns to avoid being recognised out of court by disgruntled receivers

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