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Somerton’s. “If Helsford accepts the position, he will not disappoint you.” Ethan rose to his feet; his head and arms felt as though they weighed twenty stone. “If you have nothing more, I have an appointment to keep.”
    Somerton unwound his tall frame. “That’s all you have to say?”
    “What else is there? I’m sure you’ve put a lot of thought into your selection and your mind is set, no matter my input.”
    “Your opinion matters a great deal, Danforth.”
    Ethan clenched his teeth. “Helsford will lead the Nexus well.”
    Silence darkened the chamber. Then Somerton asked, “How is the investigation going? Have you managed to catch sight of Giles Clarke?”
    “Not yet, sir, but I expect to soon.”
    “Keep me updated. I want to know if there is a link between the boys’ home and Latymer.”
    Latymer . The disgraced former Superintendent of the Alien Office had plagued them for weeks. Not only had he sold his soul to the French, but he had also betrayed and tried to kill Somerton, his friend.
    “You’ll be the first.” Ethan pivoted on his heel. “Good day.”
    “Danforth.”
    He drew in an unsteady breath and released it. Glancing over his shoulder, he lifted an inquiring eyebrow.
    “Is there anything more you wish to say to me?”
    You made a damn mistake? What’s the point? “No, sir.”
    “You’re sure?” Somerton pressed. “No concerns about taking direction from your friend?”
    His jaw hurt from the pressure of keeping damaging words behind his teeth.
    “If so, I can make special arrangements—”
    “There’s no problem, sir,” Ethan cut in before the man could eviscerate him further. “I’ll report back in a few days.”
    Not waiting for a proper dismissal, Ethan strode from Somerton’s presence, praying he would not come across Sophie or Catherine. His long stride did not falter all the way home. It wasn’t until he closed the door to his bedchamber that he allowed his rage its freedom. He tore off his coat and wrenched the cravat from around his neck. Breathless, he raked his fingers through his hair and grabbed onto his skull as if the pressure alone would stop the insidious voice of failure.
    Dropping his hands to his side, he searched the chamber. He searched for nothing in particular. Just something, anything, to relieve the pain of Somerton’s words. Alcohol. He needed alcohol to dull his senses. And sex. A vision of Miss Hunt glommed on to his thoughts. No. Dear God, no .
    He needed mindless sex with a woman who would not make him think about every damn word coming out of his mouth. Better yet, he would speak to Madame Rousseau to make sure the woman she sent to his bed did not utter a single syllable—unless it was to beg for more. All he needed was a quick release and maybe, just maybe, the tension cramping his muscles would ease enough for him to breathe normally again.

Four
    Sydney clasped her gloved hands before her while the stern-faced Mrs. Drummond closed the door. She performed a thorough sweep of Abbingale’s entrance hall, taking in the restrained interior that bespoke of both functionality and a care for cleanliness.
    “No companion today?” Mrs. Drummond asked.
    Shaking her head, Sydney replied in her silliest voice. “I’m afraid not. Poor Mrs. Cartwright wasn’t feeling quite the thing, so I insisted she stay behind.” Sydney wrinkled her nose. “No one wants to be around a dribbler. So, you have me all to yourselves!”
    In truth, Sydney had asked Amelia, along with the O’Donnell brothers, to spend the day meeting with the agency’s many service clients to see if anyone could provide information on Lord Latymer’s whereabouts. Instinct urged her to use every resource at her disposal to find the gentleman before he caused any more harm.
    Unfortunately, when Amelia realized that Sydney planned to visit Abbingale alone, her assistant had made her promise to take Mac and Mick. Sydney reluctantly agreed but insisted Amelia return to the