How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

Later.

She held up the newspaper. “There’s news.”

His spine straightened immediately. “Tell me.”

“Henry is now mentioned by name. They are already casting doubt on his honour.”

He took the paper from her. “Anything specific?”

“No.”

“That’s something in our favor.”

“Do you think so?” She wanted him to be right. Wanted the comfort of it. But she needed it to be true. Platitudes were not enough. Not now.

“Yes. If they had any kind of proper evidence, they wouldn’t hesitate to print it. To use it against him. I’d know about it. This is our traitor, chumming the waters.” He started to pace.

“What’s chumming?”

“Fishermen will agitate the waters with blood and fish parts to lure in the bigger fish they mean to catch.”

She watched him for a moment. His shoulders were tense, the tendons in his neck standing out against his skin. “You’re worried.”

“I’m restless,” he admitted. “Prickly.”

“Is that why you were playing the violin instead of eating breakfast?”

He nodded. “It helps. I never would have thought it could. I have you to thank for that.”

“I’m glad.”

“It’s more than that today, however,” he added. “That night of the fireworks, I was reacting to memories of the past. But this is different. I’ve had this feeling before, during the war. As if my body knows something my brain has not yet realized.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I think we need to draw out the traitor.”

“I have been thinking the very same thing. If we wait much longer Henry might be lost.”

“More importantly, I don’t want the traitor to grow any more desperate and come for you.”

She swallowed. “I suppose he might.”

“He won’t reach you,” Conall said darkly. “But we must flush him out. It’s becoming more and more obvious that we can’t wait for an artifact that may or may not come to a little English village all the way from Egypt.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I could make one. A forgery.”

He lifted an eyebrow back at her. “You could at that.”

“A better one.”

“Naturally.” It felt good to have a plan, an objective that did not rely on chance. “I’ll start at once.”

He caught her hand before she could dart away. His expression was serious, practically solemn. “Persephone.”

She froze, the scowled. “What? If you tell me to stay in my rooms and let you handle this, I will brain you with that violin.”

He half-smiled, quick, fleeting. “I shouldn’t dare.”