“Yes,” Jeremy said, understanding immediately. “I’ll burn everything.”

Simon gave him a short nod, and the boy strode to the door without another word.

As Jeremy left the hotel suite, Annabelle turned toward her husband. “Simon, I…I want to go to my mother—”

“You can go with Jeremy.”

“I don’t know what’s to bed one about Lord Hodgeham…”

“I’ll find him,” Simon said grimly. “Just pray that his wound is superficial. If he dies, it will be a hell of a lot more difficult to cover up this mess.”

Annabelle nodded, biting her lip before she said, “I thought we were finally rid of Hodgeham. I never dreamed that he would dare bother my mother again, after I married you. It seems that nothing will stop him.”

He took her shoulders in his hands, and said, with almost frightening softness, “I’ll stop him. You can rest assured about that.”

She regarded him with a worried frown. “What are you planning to—”

“We’ll talk later. Right now, go fetch your cloak.”

“Yes, Simon,” she whispered, and sped to her armoire.

When Annabelle and Jeremy arrived at their mother’s house, they found Philippa sitting on the stairs, a glass of spirits clutched in her hands. She looked small and almost childlike, and Annabelle’s heart twisted in her chest as she stared at her mother’s downbent head. “Mama,” she murmured, sitting on the step beside her. She laid an arm over her mother’s rounded back. Meanwhile, Jeremy assumed a businesslike manner as he enjoined the footman to help him roll up the parlor carpet and convey it to the carriage outside. In the midst of her worry, Annabelle could not help reflecting that he was handling the situation extraordinarily well for a boy of fourteen.

Philippa’s head lifted, and she regarded Annabelle with a haunted gaze. “I’m so sorry,”

“No, don’t be—”

“Just when I thought everything was finally all right, Hodgeham came here…he said that he wanted to continue visiting me, and if I didn’t agree, he would tell everyone about the arrangement we’d had. He said he would ruin all of us and make me a figure of public scorn. I cried and pleaded, and he laughed…then, when he put his hands on me, I felt something give way inside. I saw the scissors nearby, and I couldn’t keep from picking them up, and…I tried to kill him. I hope I did. I don’t care what happens to me now—”

“Hush, Mama,” Annabelle murmured, putting an arm around her shoulders. “No one could blame you for your actions—Lord Hodgeham was a monster, and—”

“Was?” Philippa asked numbly. “Does that mean he’s dead?”

“I don’t know. But everything will be fine regardless—Jeremy and I are here, and Mr. Hunt will not let anything happen to you.”

“Mama,” Jeremy called, hefting one end of the rolled-up carpet as he and the footman carried it toward the back entrance of the house, “do you know where the scissors are?” The question was asked in such a casual manner that one might have thought he needed them to cut a package string.

“The cook-maid has them, I think,” Philippa replied. “She’s trying to clean them.”

“All right, I’ll get them from her.” As they progressed down the hall, Jeremy called over his shoulder, “Have a glance over your clothes, will you? Anything with a speck of blood on it has to go.”

“Yes, dear.”

Listening to the pair of them, Annabelle couldn’t help wondering how it was that she and her family were having a casual Thursday night conversation about disposing of murder evidence. And to think that she had felt the slightest bit of superiority over Simon’s family…she cringed at the thought.

Two hours later, Philippa had finished her drink and was safely tucked into bed; Simon and Jeremy arrived at the town house within minutes of each other. They conferred briefly in the entrance hall. As Annabelle came downstairs, she paused midflight as she saw Simon enfold her brother in a quick, one-armed hug, and tousle his already disheveled hair. The fatherly gesture seemed to reassure Jeremy immensely, and a weary grin came to his face. Annabelle froze as she watched the two of them.

How surprising that Jeremy had accepted Simon so easily, when Annabelle had expected him to rebel against Simon’s authority. It gave her a strange feeling to witness the bond that had formed instantly between them, especially knowing that Jeremy’s trust was not easily won. She hadn’t thought until now what a relief it must be for her brother to have someone strong to lean on, someone who could provide solutions to problems that he was still too young to handle by himself. The yellow light from the entrance hall lamp slid over the clipped dark layers of Simon’s hair and gleamed over the high planes of his cheekbones as he looked up at her.

Battening a perplexing swell of emotions, Annabelle descended the rest of the way, and asked, “Did you find Hodgeham? And if so—”

“Yes, I found him.” Reaching for the cloak draped over the banister, Simon draped it over her shoulders. “Come, I’ll tell you everything on the way home.”

Annabelle turned toward her brother. “Jeremy, will you be all right if we leave?”

“I have the situation well in hand,” the boy replied with manly confidence.

Simon’s eyes glinted with amusement as he fitted his hand behind Annabelle’s waist. “Let’s go,” he murmured.