Page 109 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

For the women Carrick had destroyed. For the girls still held in his warehouse. For Matthew, who had walked back into hell to bring his brother down.

For all of it.

The sonata built to its thundering climax. The final chord rang out, trembling in the air.

Silence.

Then applause, crashing like a wave through the hall.

Cassidy bowed from his chair, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Magnificent," Carrick murmured, clapping politely. "Shall we stretch our legs during the interval? I could use more champagne."

"I believe," Florence said, "there's a special presentation."

Carrick frowned. "I am unaware of any—"

"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen."

Viscount Rochford had risen from his box. His voice carried across the hall, silencing the murmurs.

"Before we continue with this evening's programme, I have an announcement of some importance."

Carrick's frown deepened.

"Tonight, you will receive a special addition to your programmes. I urge you to examine them carefully."

Footmen moved through the aisles distributing papers to every guest. Florence saw Tam stand at the entrance.

Florence watched Matthew take one from the footman and press one into Carrick's hands. He didn’t look at her.

Carrick glanced at the papers dismissively. Then looked again.

His face went white.

Florence slowly pushed her chair away from him.

The programme appeared ordinary at first glance. Concert notes. Composer biographies.

But the inner pages told a different story.

Financial records. Names. Dates. Amounts. A meticulous accounting of Lord Carrick's empire, the women bought and sold, the bribes paid, the officials corrupted, the profits laundered through legitimate businesses.

Gasps rippled through the hall. Murmurs became exclamations. A woman in the front row dropped her programme with a cry of horror.

Carrick surged to his feet.

"This is slander!" His voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling. "Defamation! I'll have whoever is responsible!"

"There's more, my lord." The viscount’s voice rang out clearly.

Sylvia Raines had appeared at the side entrance. Behind her, figures emerged from the shadows.

Women. Dozens of them. Veiled, silent, their faces hidden but their presence undeniable.

And behind the women—children.

"These are the survivors of your charity work," Sylvia said, her voice carrying across the stunned hall. "They wish to share their testimony."