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is more than capable. He is a fiend.” She knew she had to
give him the name, for Maryanne’s safety. “Her beloved was the
owner of a small bookshop in Charing Cross Road. Mr. Samuel
Peabody.”
    His dark brow shot up. “He sounds like a
little, fat, middle-aged merchant. Why would you help the girl
elope with a man like that?”
    “I did not help her. She simply gave me a
name. As for the others—”
    “You’re lying, angel. I could prove you
helped her, if I found the hackney driver who came to the rear of
your shop and who saw you escort a young woman who matched Lady
Maryanne’s description into the cab. A man who saw the young lady
clasp your hands before she left and thank you for everything you
had done.”
    Her heart sank.
    “You helped her run off with some scoundrel,”
he ground out. “Some man who might have killed—”
    “No! I promised to help her. That meant
ensuring she was marrying the right man.” There, she had admitted
her guilt. She knew why she’d done so. Deep down, she still trusted
Lyan. She would always believe in the goodness of this man’s heart.
Carving her way into respectability and security, she had
encountered some of the “gentlemen” of the ton . The ones who
pressed their attentions on any women they believed beneath them.
Who were willing to rape because they believed themselves to be
untouchable. She had soon learned that birth meant nothing. Lyan
Foxton had grown up in the stews, but she knew how special, noble,
and wonderful he was.
    Yet there were also good gentlemen. Peabody
was one of them. “He is the third son of the Viscount Yarborough,
and he has a love of books. He is tall, thin, but very handsome.
And I realized, when I went to his shop and spoke with him, that he
truly loved Lady Maryanne.”
    He frowned. “How could you know that for
certain?”
    “I—a woman can tell.” She did not want him to
know how she knew. That she’d compared how Peabody looked when she
spoke of Lady Maryanne to the way Lyan used to look at her.
    “Thank you,” Lyan said. “I pray I’m not too
late.”
    “What are you going to do?” She knew she had
to be quiet, but her voice rose in fear. “I went out this
afternoon. Peabody’s shop is still closed up. I spoke to his
employee and his neighbors. He hasn’t come back.”
    “I think if Cavell arranged for his ward’s
death, it would be known by now that she had been killed. He’d want
it done fast. It would be easy enough to make it look like a
highwayman attacked her on the way to Scotland. I think the fact
that she hasn’t turned up dead means she is still alive. I think he
wants her back to marry her himself, which gives him both the lady
and control of her fortune. Hell, I have to believe
that.”
    Stark pain showed on Lyan’s face. How harsh
and sharply cut his features were, now that he’d matured from a
youth to a man. “Why would he hire you, if he was the one to
arrange for her to disappear?” she asked.
    “To make it look like he’s innocent. Or
because she escaped his trap. He might genuinely have no idea where
she is. I’m going toward Gretna. I hope Lady Maryanne and her
suitor are hiding somewhere along the way there.”
    “I would like to come with you. I want to
know Maryanne was safe, and I could help you. For a start, I know
what Peabody looks like. But I have my business…though my other
seamstresses could cope with customers for a day or two. But there
is Rose—I would not want to leave Rose alone.”
    “I suspect you could help me,” Lyan said.
“But I agree. I do not like the idea of leaving your daughter
alone. She could come and stay at my home. My sister is there, as
well as many servants. She would be very safe.”
    “At your house?” It was a kind offer and so
astonishing when he was still angry with her. “All right.”
    “I have one more condition,” he growled. “I
want you to promise you won’t help my sister, Laura, if she asks
you to help her elope.”
    “Heavens!