Page 65 of An Inconvenient Duke

Merritt blew out a harsh breath as if attempting to shed the tarnish that now clung to him from uncovering what the women had done. Marcus understood. He felt the same layer of grime adhering to him.

Merritt continued, “But it’s a different man who approaches the women every time, never giving his real name. Those men are nothing but agents for hire themselves, reporting the information back to whoever engaged them. No one knows who’s keeping the list or why.”

“Scepter,” Marcus said quietly, every inch of him prickling with apprehension.

“Unlikely.” Pearce shook his head as he crossed to the side table to help himself to the brandy. “Blackmail isn’t something a criminal organization would normally do. Too much time and resources spent for too little profit.”

“Pearce is right.” Merritt’s expression turned impenetrable, the same as it did whenever he stepped into court as a barrister. “All the blackmail cases I’ve seen have been the work of individuals, not organizations.”

“An individual with ties to Scepter, then.” Marcus’s mind churned as it attempted to make all the connections between the brothel, Elise, and Hartsham. “The Earl of Hartsham—is he on that list?”

“There’s no way to know.”

Pearce eyed Marcus over the rim of his glass as he took a large swallow. “You think that’s why he killed your sister? Because she found out what kinds of depraved services the earl had been requesting through the brothel, and he was afraid she’d tell his wife?”

“No,” he muttered thoughtfully. “Lady Hartsham already knew about his involvement with the prostitutes. That’s how she knew the names of the women to give to Elise for rescue. I doubt he cared if she knew what he did with those women, but removing them from the brothel is a completely different matter and most likely the reason she’s so terrified of him.” He picked up his cravat and hung it around his neck. “It’s one thing for a wife to know that you’re spending your time enjoying prostitutes. But it’s another thing altogether if that wife is actively working behind your back with her friends to stop you from doing it.”

“So he found out that Elise was interfering with the prostitutes,” Pearce summarized. “And killed her for it.”

The same thing would happen to Danielle, too, if she didn’t stop.

Except—

“Why would Hartsham care if he lost his favorite light skirt?” Marcus asked, desperate to force together the pieces of the puzzle but still unable to make them fit. “He could easily replace her, and immediately, too. London’s filled with women desperate enough to do just about anything for money.”

“Then he was worried your sister would tell more people besides his wife about what he was doing with those women,” Pearce corrected.

“Elise couldn’t reveal that without giving away how she learned of it, which meant she’d be betraying the women and men she was working with.” Marcus shook his head. They were finally getting answers, but none of them were adding up. “She would never have done that.”

No, he’d come to learn through Danielle how unquestionably loyal the women associated with Nightingale were. They would never put one another in danger. After all, Elise had kept her work secret from Danielle, and she had most likely gone to her grave because of it.

He glanced with a frown between the two men. “But Miss Williams has nothing to do with brothels and had no idea Elise was running her own network. So why come after Danielle Williams, and why now, after two years?”

“He’s not,” Merritt answered, his eyes grim. “He’s coming after you.”

Marcus froze. Only his heart moved, with a fierce pounding reminiscent of every time he’d charged into battle. “No. Danielle was attacked in the alley long before we knew of Hartsham’s involvement in—”

“Afteryou’d returned from the continent and began to pursue answers about your sister’s death. After you waltzed with her at the party and then called on her at her home.” Merritt shook his head. “If Hartsham suspected that Miss Williams had any information about the murder, he would have attempted to kill her to keep you from discovering the truth.”

Pearce set down the empty glass. “And shot at you last night at Vauxhall after you’d learned what Lady Hartsham had told her. You’re being watched, very closely, and whoever is doing it is keeping track of what you know and when you learn it.”

“That’s probably why your town house was broken into,” Merritt added. “He wanted to discover how much you knew and to go through Elise’s possessions in case anything incriminating had been left behind.”

“And why Porter was killed four months ago,” Pearce finished. “Right when you returned to London.”

A sickening knot formed in Marcus’s gut thathewas the one responsible for putting Danielle’s life at risk, that his family had been threatened because of him. Claudia—dear God, Pippa—

Christ.His blood turned to ice. In seeking justice for Elise, he’d endangered all of them. If anything happened to them because of him, he would never forgive himself.

“So we’re back to the original question, then.” Pearce strode forward to join the other two men. “What could Hartsham gain from it?” Standing in a triangle, they faced each other the way they’d done countless times before to discuss strategy before every battle. “Murder is an awfully excessive step to take just to keep rumors of debauchery from coming to light, even extreme ones.”

“Unless it wasn’t the debauchery he wanted to hide but the blackmail itself,” Merritt deduced. “We’ve assumed that Hartsham was being blackmailed—or had done things worthy of blackmail—and wanted to keep her silent. But what if we’re wrong?”

Pearce pondered, “If he’s not being blackmailed—”

“Then he’s likely the one who’s doing the blackmailing,” Marcus finished.

With that, all the pieces fell into place, and the three men stared at one another, their expressions bleak from the enormity of what they’d just determined.