Chapter 10
Ten
The Lion Watch was located in an innocuous warehouse no one would give a second glance.
It hid behind respectable brick and unremarkable signage, tucked into a narrow street where merchants conducted dull business and gentlemen pretended never to notice anything beyond their own affairs.
Dash entered by the side door, gave the proper knock and was admitted without ceremony.
Inside, the air smelled of ink, wax, and rain-soaked wool. Maps lined the walls in neat rows. Ledgers lay open awaiting their owners. At a glance one might mistake it for an office where bored clerks tallied trade, and they would be dead wrong.
Lionston was already there, standing over a table scattered with dispatches.
Leander Ashby, Duke of Lionston, wore the controlled impatience of a man who carried half the kingdom’s burden and was irritated by the other half.
Slothington lounged in a chair nearby, a glass of brandy in hand, looking like he had been summoned against his will and had decided to punish everyone for the slight.
“Ravenwood,” Lionston said the moment Dash stepped in. “What is it? You look…”
Dash shut the door behind him and did not give the duke a chance to finish his sentence before he uttered, “Vivy was almost killed.”
“That is the most alarming sentence you have uttered all week.” Slothington’s gaze slid lazily over him. “Who tried to end the poor lady?”
Dash crossed to the table, hands clasped behind his back to keep them still. “Halford, Avonridge’s secretary, held a knife to her throat,” he said.
Lionston stilled. “Avonridge’s secretary did that?”
“Yes.”
Slothington sat a touch straighter. “Tell me that you took care of him.”
“He was in Vivy’s bedchamber,” Dash cut in, keeping his voice even because if he permitted himself anger, he might not stop at words.
“He said it was too late for her and that she knew too much. He admitted sending her this note as a warning.” Dash’s jaw tightened as he set the missive on the desk.
“I disarmed him. He fled before I could detain him.”
Lionston swore under his breath. “How is Lavinia?”
“A cut on her throat,” Dash replied. “Nothing that will scar.” His gaze hardened. “But he was close enough. Too damned close.”
Slothington’s mouth tightened. “So, he is desperate.”
“He is,” Dash agreed. “I took Vivy to Lionston to stay with your wife. She’s not safe at home.”
“Good. Only a fool would dare go into my home.” Lionston met Dash’s gaze and said, “You said he fled. Where?”
“He was quite fast once he started running.” Dash’s tone went cold. “I chose to get Vivy out rather than chase him through a duke’s household in broad daylight.”
Lionston nodded once, approving and grim. “Good. Now tell me what else you have.”
Dash reached into his coat and withdrew the list and set it on the table as if laying down a weapon. Lionston’s gaze dropped to it and then narrowed. He picked up the list and scanned it quickly. The Duke’s expression tightened by degrees.
Slothington leaned forward. “Well?”
Lionston did not answer at once. His eyes moved over names and marks—missing, discharged, removed, compromised—and with every line his frown deepened. “This is…” Lionston’s voice turned quiet and dangerous. “This is not merely a list of men. This is a ledger of our reach.”
“It was in Avonridge’s possession,” Dash said, his blood chilling at the implications.
Lionston snapped his gaze up. “Yes.” He tapped the page. “And not just our current names. There are names here we never formally asked to join yet—men we intended to recruit once they returned. Names that should not exist on paper at all.”
Slothington’s tone went drier. “So, someone has been keeping records who has no business doing so.”
Lionston’s eyes narrowed. “Or someone has been fed records. Or has taken them.” He flipped the page. “Do you see this?”
Dash leaned in. Several names were marked missing. His stomach tightened. Missing did not mean absent from London. Missing meant unaccounted for.
Lionston’s jaw clenched. “We will not ignore this.”
Slothington let out a slow breath. “We cannot. Our names on that list too.”
Lionston turned sharply and rapped his knuckles on the table—a signal. Within moments, the door opened and two men appeared, faces neutral and gazes alert.
Lionston’s tone turned crisp. “I want the city scoured. Quietly. Halford is to be found and brought in alive if possible.”
One of the men nodded. “At once, Your Grace.”
“And,” Lionston continued, tapping the list, “these names marked missing—I want eyes on their known haunts. Lodgings, clubs, mistresses, tailors, and gaming hells. Anything. If they have vanished willingly, I want to know why. If they have been taken, I want to know by whom.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The men vanished as swiftly as they came.
Lionston turned back, his expression hard. “They are watching us,” he said. “They have been watching us long enough to compile this.”
Dash’s gaze remained on the list. “Which means Vivy should have given that to me sooner. She read those names and was investigating it. Her curiosity put her in danger.”
“She was right to be curious.” Slothington snorted softly. “She found that in her father’s study and it has your name on it. She’s in love with you so of course she would investigate.”
“Slothy brings up a good point.” Lionston narrowed his gaze. “Why did Avonridge have this?”
“I do not know.” Dash’s chest tightened. “Vivy found it in his study. After she got that missive warning her away. I do not know if Halford kept it there or if it was Avonridge’s list.”
Lionston held up a hand. “Do not speak the worst possibility unless we are forced to.” He turned to Slothington. “We need a deeper investigation. Quiet, thorough, and ruthless.”
Slothington’s expression sharpened despite his habitual languor. “Into Avonridge?”
“Into everything.” Lionston flicked his gaze to Dash. “If this list exists, we must assume there are others or there is someone who can recreate it.”
Dash’s jaw tightened. “And Halford is now loose.” He silently cursed. None of this was good and he hated that Vivy was still in danger. They had to find that man and discover what he knew.
“Which makes time our enemy,” Lionston said.
Slothington set his glass down with a soft clink. “I will take the lead on Avonridge.”
Lionston studied him. “You?”
Slothington’s mouth curved faintly. “Who better? I have always wanted an excuse to be insufferable to a duke.”
Dash tilted his head to the side and then said, “Try not to provoke the man. He could make your life miserable.”
Slothington glanced at him. “No promises.”
Lionston’s tone cut through the dry humor. “Good. Slothington will look into Avonridge. Dash your priority remains Lavinia. Keep her safe and keep her close.”
Dash’s heartbeat kicked, hard. Keep her close—he did not need permission for that. “I will,” Dash said.
Lionston nodded. “Do not make decisions with your heart.”
Dash held his gaze. “You know me better than that.” She had always had his heart. He had just kept that to himself for so long that even he had forgotten that fact. Something he was not about to share with Lionston. He did not need to know that. “I am always meticulous with my tasks.”
Slothington’s brow lifted. “A shame. It would improve you.”
Lionston ignored him. “We move quietly,” the Duke said. “We move quickly and we assume nothing.”
Dash’s hand curled behind his back, nails biting into his palm. Because one thing was already certain. This was no longer about a list. It was about Vivy and if Halford had dared put a knife to her throat once and Dash would not give him the opportunity to try again.
Lionston House seemed safe enough. It was quiet and welcoming. She could see how Sabrina had made it special. It was a home filled with loyal servants and solid walls. Sabrina’s presence helped too. She had always had a way about her that Vivy appreciated. She was steady and warm…a true friend.
Vivy sat in Sabrina’s sunny sitting room with a cup of tea in hand and tried, very hard, to breathe as though her life had not been nearly ended earlier that day.
Sabrina sat opposite her, perfectly at ease, her posture elegant, and her expression amused—as if danger were merely an inconvenience that could be dismissed with wit.
“You look as though you are expecting the curtains to murder you,” Sabrina observed, lifting her own cup.
Vivy tried to smile. “Forgive me if I am not entirely reassured by silk and satin.”
Sabrina’s mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “Then be reassured by stone. Lionston House has survived worse than a disgruntled secretary.”
Vivy tightened her grip on her cup. “He had a knife at my throat.” Something that would haunt her dreams for a while. She still relived it when she closed her eyes. She wished she could forget, but that seemed impossible.
Sabrina’s eyes cooled, just slightly. “Yes. I know.”
Vivy blinked. “Then you know I cannot just simply forget it.” She sighed.
“Does your husband tell you everything?” She hoped she could have that sort of relationship with Dash, but she feared he would still try to keep secrets.
It was the nature of who he was and while she loved him, she hated that part of him.
“Leander tells me everything that matters,” Sabrina replied calmly, as if that were simply the way marriages worked. “If he loves you, he will do the same with you.”
The words warmed Vivy more than the tea.
Of course, her friend would understand why she asked.
Before she could respond, the sitting room door opened.
Vivy turned, expecting a footman. Instead, Mr. Halford walked in.
He was disheveled now. His coat was rumpled with eyes that were bright and filled with panic and rage.
In his hand he held a pistol, aimed steadily at them both.