How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

Not shrivelled ancient intestines dried in natron salt, not the fine linen that would have been wrapped around them, not dust.

And not a letter, either.

“Give me that!” she cried out, fury and fear overriding her good sense. He stumbled back a step when she burst like a firecracker exponentially more enraged than when he’d kissed her. “Where is it? What did you do with it?” She turned an accusing eye on him. “What did you do with it?”

“Do with what?”

“This time, you’ll answer me,” she flashed, grabbing the jar. It was still empty. She shook it helplessly. “I need the contents of this jar, Lord Northwyck.”

“Do you indeed?” He stalked toward her. “Why?”

“History,” she said.

“Try again.” He didn’t believe her. Fair enough, she wouldn’t have believed her either.

“It’s not your concern,” she tried instead.

“Oh, I think it is. Treason is very much my concern.”

“I’m not a traitor, for Heaven’s sake.”

There was a sharp, heavy pause. “But you seek to protect one?”

“No.”

His demeanor changed. He was just as sharp, just as dangerous, but she felt less like he might turn into a dagger at her throat. Someone else’s throat, definitely. “You know who he is.”

What she knew was that Henry’s letter was missing. How had they found it? Who had known to look for it? And had they destroyed it?

Of course, they’d destroyed it.

Aside from Henry and herself, only the actual traitor knew about it. Despair and determination warred within her. She wouldn’t let Henry be a scapegoat. She would find the next letter. Somehow.

And before Conall could.

Again, somehow. As plans went, it hardly inspired. But surely resolve counted for something. Because as much as Conall suspected her involvement, it was clear he was even more involved. But it was far less clear which side he was on. She couldn’t countenance him as a traitor. Perhaps he served the Crown and the War Office. And not to sound like the traitor he’d accused her of being, but damn both the Crown and the War Office if all they wanted was a scapegoat instead of the truth.

“You have to tell me who he is, Persephone,” Conall pressed.

He wouldn’t believe her, or Henry more to the point. She wasn’t going to let Henry hang. He might be a peer, but even peers were punished for treason. She had to get out here. She had to think. But Conall was unlikely to let her walk out of here.

“I’ll protect you,” he promised. She had no doubt he would protect her. But she wasn’t the one in need of protecting. Being rescued, at present, would be nice. She’d have to do it herself. She hit the heel of her boot three times on the floor, loudly.

Conall frowned. “What in the devil?”

Heavy footsteps thudded up the steps and the footman burst in. “Hey, now! Who’s there?”

“You little…” Conall muttered.

“Joseph,” Persephone called out.

Joseph paused, confused. “Lady Persephone?”

She sailed toward him, out of Conall’s reach. He made a sound suspiciously like a growl. “Yes, I came to see how well we had secured the exhibits.”

“Oh.” He deflated, realizing she and another gentleman currently occupied the locked room he was meant to protect. “I only stepped out to reliev—that is, I was only gone a moment.”

“Yes, of course. We will need at least one more footman, I think,” she replied briskly, as if her heart wasn’t racing. As if Conall wasn’t moving in the shadows behind her. “Lord Northwyck came in from the back window. Someone will have to be posted there as well, I should think.”