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Granbury entered. Brook hadn’t known the duke’s son and heir was home, but he supposed the duke had sent for his son when Lila had gone missing.
    “Sir Brook,” Granbury said, coming forward and bowing. “How can we thank you?”
    Brook bowed in return. Granbury was younger than Lila and had the look of sincerity. His brown eyes, shaped like Lila’s but a darker color, were almost too big for his youthful face.
    “I don’t need thanks, your lordship. I wanted only to speak with your father.”
    “He is on his way.” Granbury poured a measure of brandy, handed it to Brook, and then poured one for himself. Though Brook had been determined not to take anything from Lennox, he didn’t feel the same compunction with Granbury. He sipped and wondered if the earl knew anything of his history with Lila.
    “I only saw her for a moment,” Granbury said, “but she seemed fine. How did you find her?”
    “Luck,” Brook said, not wishing to bring Dorrington into the conversation. It was better if no one asked too many questions about his associate.
    “Remind me never to gamble with you,” Danbury said.
    The two sipped their brandy in silence for a few moments, in which Brook fervently wished the duke would make his appearance. What did one say to a brother after having rescued his sister from Seven Dials?
    Finally, Danbury cleared his throat. “Hell of a thing about the MP from Lincolnshire.”
    Brook didn’t follow politics. That was his brother’s domain. But he liked to think he kept abreast of Parliament’s activities when they were in session. He’d even been called to address Parliament a time or two on the question of crime in the city.
    At present, Parliament was not in session. Most of the members were at their country estates or in their home counties.
    “What happened?” Brook asked, glancing toward the bracket clock on a table. How much longer would the duke make him wait? He wanted a hot bath, a hot meal, and his bed. In that order.
    “The man was found dead this morning near the Covent Garden Theater.”
    Brook set down his glass. He’d been near Covent Garden himself that morning, investigating Lila’s disappearance. “Natural causes?” he asked.
    “Murder. His throat was cut from one end to the other.”
    Brook’s entire body went cold, and his focus sharpened like a knife.
    “Do they have the assassin?”
    Danbury settled himself in a large armchair. “No. Right now the Bow Street Runners are asking for witnesses.”
    Oh, he had a witness, but he wasn’t trusting her to the Runners. Most of them were good men, but there were a few who would sell their souls for a few extra coins.
    “Have to ask yourself what kind of world we live in when our own government officials are murdered on the street.”
    “Yes.”
    Brook knew exactly the kind of world they lived in, probably better than the earl would ever know. His question was what sort of relationship the dead MP had with Beezle—if that was who’d taken Lila and who she’d seen murder the member from Lincolnshire.
    His next question was how to protect Lila. If she’d seen Beezle murder an MP, she wasn’t safe. Kidnapping was one thing, murder quite another. She was a target now, and she had to be protected.
    The door opened, and Granbury stood as his father entered. Lennox waved his son back down and crossed directly to the ormolu table holding the brandy, sherry, and port decanters. He poured himself a measure of sherry, downed it, then poured another. Crystal-cut glass in hand, he turned to face Brook.
    “Well, you’ve done it again. My daughter is home, safe and sound.”
    “She is home,” Brook acknowledged.
    “She seems none the worse for her ordeal, a little tired and hungry, but that can be remedied. It’s her reputation that concerns me now.”
    Of course that’s what mattered to the duke. Lila had to make a good match. That, after all, was the purpose of a duke’s daughter. How Lennox must have chafed at his wife’s