Chapter Seventeen
“Indeed there is.” A calm voice from the shadows behind the rose trellis. “Though perhaps not the choice you imagine.”
White spun around, as Constable Stephens stepped into the lamplight, his expression grim but unsurprised.
“Constable.” White’s voice had lost all its calculating smoothness, replaced by something that almost resembled panic. “I… we were just…”
“Discussing blackmail, extortion, and accessory to murder?” Stephens said. “Yes, I heard quite enough.” His steady gaze moved to Rose. “Lady Rose, are you unharmed?”
White’s mind was clearly racing, searching for an escape route. “This is all a misunderstanding. A lovers’ quarrel, nothing more.”
“Baron White, you are under arrest for the assaults committed against Lady Margaret Jones, Miss Catherine Mills—maids whose testimonies you no doubt thought would remain buried.” He took a step forward, his expression cold and resolute.
“And based on what I’ve just witnessed, I’m adding conspiracy and attempted extortion to the charges.
And there’s your smuggling operation. I would venture to guess if anyone is to hang, it will be you.
” He paused, letting the silence stretch.
“I came here tonight to take you into custody. I didn’t expect you to be so obliging as to confess to additional crimes in front of witnesses. ”
White staggered backward, his composure cracking visibly. “This is impossible. How long have you been—”
“Long enough.” Stephens stepped closer, his hand resting on the pistol at his side.
“Mr. Hale brought me compelling evidence this afternoon regarding both your illegal activities and Lord Wentworth’s smuggling operation.
I’ve been observing the estate since dusk, waiting for the appropriate moment to act. ”
“Constable, surely we can discuss this as gentlemen,” White said, his voice taking on a wheedling tone completely at odds with his earlier confidence. “I can provide you with information about Lord Wentworth’s operations that would prove far more valuable than—”
“Than watching you attempt to blackmail his daughter with threats of false imprisonment and murder?” Stephens’s voice turned arctic. “I think not.”
White’s face contorted with desperate fury as he realized his situation was hopeless. “You have no idea what you’re interfering with. The profits from our arrangements could make you a wealthy man—”
“And there’s the attempted bribery of a peace officer to add to your charges.” Stephens drew his pistol with practiced ease. “Place your hands behind your back, Baron White. You’re coming with me.”
“This is outrageous!” White’s mask of civility finally shattered completely. “I am a peer of the realm! You cannot treat me like a common criminal!”
“You are a common criminal,” Rose said quietly, finding her voice at last. “You prey upon women who cannot defend themselves. You threaten and manipulate for your own gain. Your title means nothing when weighed against your actions.”
White turned on her with venom. “You self-righteous little chit. Do you think this changes anything? Your father is still a murderer, and without my protection—”
“Your protection?” Stephens interrupted with cold amusement. “The protection of a man who just attempted to extort sexual compliance through threats of false accusation?” He shook his head. “I think Lord Wentworth will find his situation much improved without your particular brand of assistance.”
Sebastian stepped forward, his voice carrying years of suppressed rage. “Baron White, you’ve spent your entire adult life harming innocent people. Tonight, that ends.”
“You have no right to speak to me, you worthless—”
“Sebastian Ashford has every right,” Stephens said firmly. “As does Lady Rose. As do all the women you’ve hurt over the years.” He gestured with his pistol. “Now turn around and place your hands behind your back, or I will be forced to make this arrest far less comfortable for you.”
Faced with no other choice, White slowly complied, his shoulders shaking with impotent rage. “This isn’t over. I have connections, influence.”
“Had,” Stephens corrected as he secured White’s wrists with iron shackles. “Past tense. I suspect your connections will quickly distance themselves from you once the truth comes out.”
As if summoned by the commotion, footsteps approached through the garden. Tobias Hale emerged from the shadows.
“Constable Stephens,” Hale said with evident relief. “Thank God you arrived in time.”
“Your information proved invaluable, Mr. Hale,” Stephens replied.
“We’ll need formal statements from all of you,” Stephens said. “But first, we must locate Lord Wentworth and search for the evidence Lady Rose described.” He turned to Sebastian. “Mr. Ashford, I believe you deserve to witness your father’s name being cleared at last.”
Sebastian’s voice was thick with emotion. “Twelve years I’ve waited for this moment.”
Rose’s heart twisted at the rawness in his voice. So many years, so much weight he’d carried alone. But she no longer questioned his heart. He had told her he loved her. He had been willing to walk away from his revenge—for her.
And in that moment, she knew. He meant it. He still meant it.
“Mr. Hale, would you go inside and have my deputies secure Mr. Hargrave?” Stephens asked.
“Nothing would please me more,” Hale said, before tearing across the yard toward the house.
Rose drew a slow breath and stepped forward, her voice steady. “What will happen to my father?”
“Justice, Lady Rose,” Stephens said solemnly. “At long last. For your mother. For Lord Ashford. For everyone who suffered because of his actions.”
Somewhere inside the house, she heard her father’s voice raised in fury, the sound of boots on polished floors.
Her stomach clenched, but she did not waver.
The man who had killed her mother, who had lied to her, who had nearly sacrificed her future, was about to face the reckoning he never thought would come.
“We should go inside,” Rose said. “I need to show you where the mask is hidden. If it’s still there.”
Sebastian moved closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “Rose, you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” She looked up at the man who had come into her life in disguise and shown her the truth. “I need to see this through. For her.”
They walked side by side toward the house, the night thick with rose-scented air. Her mother’s rose garden, planted with such love, the only thing left of her. No, that wasn’t right. I am here, Rose thought. I made it.
Baron White was in custody. Her father would soon face judgment. And Sebastian—Sebastian had found the justice he came for.
But he had also found her.
She glanced at him. His borrowed finery still clung to his frame, but beneath it, he was still the man who had knelt beside her in a rose garden and wrapped her bleeding hand in his own.
What came next was uncertain.
But those were questions for later. Right now, she had a promise to keep to her mother’s memory, and a father to confront with the truth of what he had done.
*
By the time they returned to the house, most of the guests had departed or were slipping away in tight-lipped silence, leaving behind a weary, wide-eyed staff to handle the remains of the night.
Baron White had been taken into custody by two constables and led out the front door in disgrace, shackled and snarling threats no one took seriously.
Inside, a second group of constables had already detained Lord Wentworth in the study. He stood near the fireplace, arms bound, his expression dark with barely suppressed fury.
Sebastian felt the curious stares of the servants as he and Rose followed Stephens down the corridor, Hale just behind them. Despite everything that had happened, he ached for Rose. She moved with grim purpose, but her pale face and trembling hands betrayed the toll it was all taking.
“I’ll need statements from anyone who worked here twelve years ago,” Stephens said as they reached the study. “But first, let’s find the mask.”
He closed the door behind them, sealing out the whispers and curious stares.
Seconds later, a knock came, followed by Hale’s swift entrance. His coat was unbuttoned, his hair windblown. “Hargrave’s gone. One of the kitchen maids saw him ride off not five minutes ago.”
Stephens swore under his breath. “He won’t get far. I have men watching the roads.”
“We’re looking for the mask,” Rose said, voice taut. “Then my father can answer for what he’s done.”
Wentworth didn’t speak. His jaw was locked tight, his posture unchanged, as if denial alone could undo what had already begun.
“I’d not noticed the floorboard until today,” Rose said. “Because the rug covered it. Someone must have moved it.” Mary, she realized. It was her way of helping without getting involved and risking her job or life. Smart.
Stephens nodded toward the hearth. “Go on, Lady Rose.”
Deputies flanked the doorway as Rose took a letter opener from the desk and knelt at the spot on the floor where the board was loose.
Sebastian watched her hands shake as she worked the metal tool beneath the wood.
His chest tightened with anguish. She was so brave, so determined to see this through, but what would this cost her?
For a terrible moment, as her back rose and fell, and she hung her head, Sebastian thought the mask wasn’t there. However, seconds later, she lifted it from its hiding place where it had remained concealed for twelve years and held it up for them all to see.
Although faded from time, dark stains still marked the delicate material. Rose’s hands trembled as she passed it to the constable. “I was right.” Her voice was flat, almost hollow. “It’s over.”
Wentworth sneered. “She never understood what I sacrificed. She would have thrown it all away.”
“She was trying to protect me,” Rose said.
“She was trying to unravel everything I’d built. She couldn’t see the necessity of it. The cost of power.”