Page 8 of An Extraordinary Lord

“We’ve done nothing of the sort,” Merritt grumbled.

“Now that we’ve established your character,” he repeated, ignoring the interruption, “let me be blunt. While I might not have known you were a woman, I know exactly who you are.” His piercing gaze fixed on her. “You’re part of a criminal ring in Cheapside that specializes in theft and burglary, stealing goods from the warehouse docks and then fencing them in the market and local shops.”

Not at all.She might live among thieves, but she played no part in breaking the law.

“You broke into a storeroom owned by Winslow Shipping and Trade.”

No, she’d been arrested long after the storeroom had been burgled, the goods sold, and the money distributed to the poor. After Filipe had been arrested and was awaiting trial, when she’d begged Fernsby to help prove her guilty instead so Filipe would be set free. Then she walked into Bow Street and turned herself in.

“You were tried, pled guilty—you should have hanged.”

“Yes.” Yet she’d been willing to sacrifice herself for the people who lived with her at the Court of Miracles, those people who had become like family to her. She would have done anything to keep them fed and protected by Filipe and his men, including surrendering her own life. She would gladly do so again.

“But the judge has a personal grudge against Henry Winslow, so he sentenced you to five years in Newgate instead just to irritate the man.”

“Lucky me,” she replied, deadpan.

With a frown, Merritt interjected, “When you escaped after six months, you returned to Cheapside and took right back up with the same criminals.”

“And then, Mrs. Fitzherbert, you caught me and brought me here.” She ignored the aggravated darkening of his expression. “But this place isn’t Newgate.” She cast a glance at the octagonal room around her and the tower that rose overhead before leveling her eyes at the undersecretary. “And it’s certainly not the Home Office. So what do you want with me?”

“I want your cooperation with one of our investigations.”

She scoffed. “Why should I help you?”

“Because you’ll be granted a pardon,” Merritt said quietly.

A pardon.Veronica’s belly tightened into a knot of longing so fierce that she struggled to hide her wince. Was he serious? God’s mercy, she’d do anything for that!

Returning to Newgate would end her.

Merritt Rivers knew it, too, damn him.

She flicked a glance at him. He still stood in his original position against the wall, but now he stared glumly at the rug, not giving her a single look, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of what the Home Office was offering. But she knew his attention was riveted on her. Her skin tingled with awareness of it.

“You live among the criminal underworld,” he said to the floor.

Well, that was a nice way of calling her a thief.

“Which means you have contacts who can give us information about the men who are inciting the riots.”

“What makes you think I can help you with that?”

“Because these aren’t normal riots.”

She turned in the chair as far as her handcuffs allowed to look directly at him. “What do you mean?”

His brows drew together, distracted. “Riots all have an initial reason for starting, some cause they want to draw attention to, even if the mob strays into sheer destruction once it’s underway. But these don’t.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “Not one of the rioters who’s been arrested has pled a greater moral cause in an attempt to persuade the jury toward innocence or used the docket as a pulpit to further his cause.”

“Maybe those men who were arrested simply joined in after the riot started and didn’t care what its cause was,” she argued.

Shaking his head, he slowly came forward, drawn into the interrogation. “Riots have targets. The Gordon Riots targeted papists. Last year’s riots over the Corn Laws targeted Parliament and the MPs. The riots this spring in Ely and Littleport targeted shops where the rioters broke in to take food to feed their families. Hell, even those so-called patriotic riots a few years ago attacked houses where the owners didn’t illuminate their front doors in honor of war victories. Theyallhad targets. But these rioters are randomly attacking anything they come across.”

She darted a glance at the undersecretary, whose inscrutable expression gave away none of his thoughts. But he also wasn’t looking at her; he was studying Merritt. Very closely.

“There should also have been a trigger.”

She blinked. “A trigger?”