The next day, Gareth arrived at Ferncroft, a small country estate near Gloucester belonging to the Duke of Lanchester but currently occupied by the duke's uncle and Gareth's professional superior, Lord Owen Lovell. As second sons of dukes, however, they were social equals.

Though he shouldn't have been surprised, he was all the same to see Lord Ethan Lovell's new wife, Charlotte, who stood in the graveled drive in bonnet and pelisse, as if she were about to go somewhere, though he didn't see a carriage anywhere.

"Lantern Holder!" she said brightly. "What brings you here?"

He dismounted from his horse, doffed his hat, and sketched a bow. "Lady Ethan," he said, addressing her by her proper married title. "I thought you and your new husband were en route to the Continent."

"We are. We're stopping here on our way to Bristol, where our ship awaits. I was just going out for a walk while Ethan and his Uncle Owen engage in some men's business, or so they call it. Where's Evie?" As if Gareth should have brought her along for some reason.

"She's still at AshdownPark." Unless she took his advice and was already on her way out of England. Deep down inside, he hoped she wasn't. He didn't want to believe that she was the traitor Eris.

Nausea roiled in his gut at the thought that believing and wanting to believe were two wildly different things, one borne of facts and faith, the other by a denial that wouldn't even exist were it not for one ironically undeniable detail: Gareth loved Evie in a way he'd never loved another woman. He wondered if he'd always loved her since that night at Madame Delphine's. He only knew that he hadn't always thought she was a traitor until just last night.

"Perhaps I should rephrase the question," Charlotte said. "Why isn't she with you? Gracie and I were certain you would—"

"I don't mean to be rude, Lady Ethan," he said ruefully, "but I came here to see Lord Owen, and maybe Lord Ethan, too. That same men's business you mentioned a moment ago."

She gestured to the double set of steps leading to the double front doors. "Then you'd best join them. They're in the book room, to your left after you go inside. The sooner you finish, the sooner Ethan can join me on my walk. And maybe the sooner you can go back to Evie."

Gareth hastened to the steps. Every mention of Evie squeezed his heart.

"She loves you, you know," Charlotte called after him.

He froze on the steps, but he didn't turn to face her.

"She'll gladly give you her heart, if you'll just open yours," Charlotte added. "Not all women are like her mother or Lady Ruth."

That made him turn his head to scowl at her. "I know that. But how do you know about Lady Ruth? Oh, never mind. Your husband must have told you."

"He regaled me with the whole sad story on our journey here from Northampton," she said blithely. "I also know he was once fond of her himself, before she married the late, unfortunate Mr. Hale, who died as a result of her treasonous activities. You and Ethan might have died, too, had either of you managed to get too tangled in her web."

"I'm aware of that now," he said. "And I know Ethan is, too."

"And what he didn't tell me, Evie told me and Gracie. The Duke of Bradbury and Lady Milner may not belong together, but rest assured, you and Evie do." She twirled around and ambled away down the drive without a backward glance.

Gareth proceeded into the house and found the book room at once, not because Charlotte gave such good directions—though she did—but because he'd been here before.

Owen and Ethan were astonished but pleased to see him. "We were just talking about you," Owen said from his armchair near the fireplace. "Sit down and join us for a brandy before tea."

Gareth reached inside his coat and brandished the envelope that had felt like a flaming lump of coal ever since he placed it there in the Ashdown stable yard last night. "I finally have it. Lady Ruth's letter to Eris."

Owen reached for the proffered envelope. "So you finally prevailed upon Kingsley to do his patriotic duty and hand it over? Must be his recent betrothal to that heiress. Why demand from the Crown money the Crown will never pay, when his bride should have a large enough dowry for his needs?"

"What heiress?" Ethan queried.

Owen broke the seal on the letter. "Lord Tyndall's sister, I believe. When Tyndall inherited the earldom last year, he also came into enough money to sufficiently attract rolled up fortune hunters like Kingsley to wed his sister."

Still standing, Gareth said, "Kingsley did not give that to me. I found it in the possession of Lord Tyndall's sister."

Owen darted him a sharp look. "Same thing, is it not? Kingsley's betrothed to her."

What a tangle! Gareth didn't know how to explain, or if he should even bother.

Ethan chuckled. "Quite a difference between giving it to you and finding it in someone's possession. And since when was she betrothed to Kingsley? Why, Charlotte seemed to think..." He cast a questioning look at Gareth.

Owen glanced from the letter to Gareth, then to his nephew, and back to Gareth. "What? You, Gareth, and Lord Tyndall's sister?"

"That's what I thought myself, for about a day or so," he said glumly, "until I found that on the writing desk in—in her bedchamber." He fixed his gaze on the fireplace.

Owen grunted. Ethan asked, "I take it then that she didn't come with you?"

Gareth continued staring at the fireplace, as if he hoped to divine a solution to his dilemma in the crackling flames. "She thinks...that I think...she's a traitor."

"Do you think she's a traitor?"

"She had this letter, addressed to Eris in Lady Ruth's hand. Hurley told me Eris is believed to be the link between Lady Ruth and Madame Delphine. What am I supposed to think?"

"That maybe there's a perfectly good explanation for why she had it," Ethan said. "One that would exonerate her, if only you weren't so eager to believe that every woman you meet is out to betray you in some manner."

Gareth stiffened and clenched his fists as he turned away from the fireplace to glare at Ethan. "I met your wife outside a few moments ago, when I arrived. I understand you had quite a conversation with her on that subject. Perhaps you wouldn't mind continuing that conversation outdoors in some secluded but open space?"

"As a matter of fact, I would mind," Ethan answered. "I haven't worked out at Gentleman Jackson's in months. Ashdown will vouch for that."

"Maybe you should have opened this letter before you brought it to me," Owen piped up. "And maybe you should sit down, Gareth. I believe I told you to do so already."

But Gareth remained standing before the fireplace, between the armchair and the sofa. "I wasn't about to open it. Need to know and all that, just as you taught us."

"Alas, I taught you too well," Owen said with a sigh, "or you might have saved yourself whatever trouble you're in with Lord Tyndall's sister." He held out the open letter to Gareth. "Read it for yourself. Read it aloud, so Ethan may hear, too."

Gareth took the letter and glanced over it, noting the date and recognizing the penmanship of his former lover and colleague.

"This was written the same day she died, and it's addressed to her younger sister, Flora," he said in bewilderment. "Lady Flora is married to Mr. Gerald Benedict, who happens to be Lord Tyndall's cousin."

"As well as his heir," Owen added. "But now that Tyndall has taken a bride, I have no doubt that Mr. Benedict will soon be supplanted."

Gareth continued staring at the letter in astonishment. "Then how did Miss Benedict come into possession of it?"

"Did you bother to ask her when you removed it from her writing desk?" Ethan asked dryly. "Or did you merely leap to conclusions based on circumstances?"

"As a matter of fact, I did ask her. And you're right—I made some horribly wrong assumptions, and she was so outraged that she refused to answer me—as if she knew it would do no good. Bloody hell!" Gareth nearly threw the letter to the floor in rage at himself.

"Methinks you left her in haste, and that you now owe her quite the apology." While Ethan's tone was tinged with sarcasm, there wasn't the faintest hint of amusement on his face. If anything, he looked sad for Gareth as well as Evie.

"I received an express from Regis Hurley yesterday," said Owen. "He finally got Lord Kingsley to admit that he gave this letter to Miss Evangeline Benedict, with instructions to pass it to her cousin's wife, Lady Flora. One might argue you did the right thing when you found and removed that letter from Miss Benedict's writing desk."

Gareth's heart didn't just sink. It dropped right into his stomach. "That must be why Lady Flora and her husband came to AshdownPark."

"But one might also argue," said Ethan, "that you did the wrong thing by making Miss Benedict think she was the traitorous link known as Eris."

"I won't argue with that at all," Gareth answered, feeling thoroughly dejected.

"Read it," Owen said curtly, as if doing so would be fitting punishment for Gareth's impulsive, unjustified treatment of Evie—and right after he made love to her.

He took a deep breath. "'My dearest sister Flora,'" he started reading, "'If you are reading this, then I have either left for the Continent or worse, I am dead because they found out about me, and possibly you. If you believe you can steal those jewels from that dead princess, then by all means do so, but with the understanding that there will be no going back if you do so. You will have to find your own way out of England unless you manage to catch up to me before I sail from Bristol. If they are pursuing me, they are less likely to look for me there than Dover or Folkestone.'"

Gareth looked up from the letter, glancing from Owen to Ethan. "I'm afraid she's right about that. Naturally we would have expected her to depart from a port closer to the Continent." He continued reading, "'I should never have confided in you. I should never have involved you. I know you're bitter about the downward spiral of your own life, just as I am about my own, but taking it out on the Crown as vengeance for its inheritance laws is too dangerous, and it has only made things worse for us. I beg of you not to open the enclosure. The less you know, the better. Deliver it immediately to Lord Gareth Armstrong, who will see it safely to its proper place. And when you do, tell him I'm sorry.'" He glanced up. "My brother told me about Lady Flora's 'downward spiral.' She and Ruth were daughters of the late Earl of Renton. When he died, his title and estates passed to a distant cousin who turned out both of them and left them to fend for themselves. They might have made better marriages than they did otherwise. She'd hoped to make one with my brother by stealing into what she thought was his bed at a house party, but was really Mr. Gerald Benedict's. My brother and Benedict are both blond of hair, but there ends the resemblance."

Owen waved the aforementioned enclosure, a much smaller envelope. "This must be the secret document Lady Ruth thought to pass to Lady Flora, who would then give it to Madame Delphine." He tore it open and after a quick perusal, tossed it into the flames of the fireplace. "It's exactly what we've been looking for. And now that the war is over and those names are no longer needed, we can destroy it. You're both witnesses."

Gareth watched as the top secret list of subagents curled and blackened until it was nothing but ashes. Owen grabbed the poker and stirred the ashes into a fine dust.

"Why didn't Lady Ruth give it straight to Madame Delphine herself?" Gareth inquired. "Miss Benedict might have been spared all of this grief, and on my account."

"Gareth, Lady Ruth made me believe that's what she did, shortly before she died, though now I can understand why she did so," Ethan said. "She didn't want to drag her sister down with her. I daresay the grief they caused was on their account, not yours."

"Lady Flora was friends with Madame Delphine," Owen explained. "And she knew her older sister was working for the Crown on behalf of the war effort. Somehow she persuaded her to play both sides. Gareth, do I see a second page to that letter?"

He flipped over to the second page, scanning it silently as he realized he didn't want to read the rest of it aloud. But he knew he'd have to.

"Go on," Owen prodded him.

"The rest of this is rather embarrassing," Gareth said with a sheepish grimace.

"Read it, Gareth," Owen ordered him. "The fact that you purloined it from Miss Benedict with the notion that she might be the other traitor should be embarrassing enough."