""You Promised You'd Behave Tonight,"" She Warned — ""I Promised Nothing of the Kind,"" He Said, Locking the Door

Julian pulled the master ledger from the safe, flipping through the vellum pages under the lightning flashes outside the window.

His jaw twitched as his eyes devoured the names. ""Eight lords. Three admirals. And the Chancellor of the Exchequer himself. They didn't just build bad ships, Josie—they intentionally sent rotting hulls into sea battles to collect the insurance dividends from Lloyd's of London. Hundreds of British sailors drowned for their portfolios.""

""And Arthur found out,"" I whispered in horror.

""And Arthur died for it,"" Julian confirmed, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, absolute fury. He shoved the ledger inside his evening coat. ""Now, we get this to the press.""

""Not so fast, Lord Julian.""

The click of a pistol hammer sounded from the shattered doorway.

Silas Wathbone stood in the rain, drenched, his silver mask discarded, his face twisted into an ugly, triumphant sneer. Behind him stood two hulking brutes armed with short clubs and heavy blades.

""You always were an arrogant bastard, Thorne,"" Wathbone wheezed, leveling a double-barreled dueling pistol directly at Julian’s chest. ""Running around the continent playing the wounded, grieving brother. And to think, you dragged this little gutter rat with you to do your dirty work.""

Julian immediately stepped in front of me, shielding my entire body with his own.

""Let her leave, Silas,"" Julian said, his tone utterly devoid of fear, cool and lethal. ""Your fight is with me. The girl is merely a typesetter.""

""Oh, no,"" Wathbone chuckled darkly, stepping into the room. ""The girl is the Midnight Mirror. Inspector Vance already searched her ruined little shop. He found her father’s old receipts. Edmund March’s brat. The father died of shame, and the daughter will die of a broken neck.""

Wathbone motioned to the two thugs. ""Take the ledger. Break the Duke’s boy’s legs. And put a bullet in the girl.""

Before the nearest brute could take a single step forward, Julian moved.

He didn't wait to be attacked. Julian grabbed the heavy oak desk chair and hurled it across the room with devastating force, catching the first guard square in the chest. The man crashed backward into the doorframe with a sickening thud.

BANG!

Wathbone’s pistol discharged, the lead ball shattering the windowpane inches above my head, spraying rain and glass everywhere.

The second brute lunged at Julian with an iron club. Julian ducked beneath the swing, caught the man’s wrist, and drove a savage elbow into his throat. The man gagged and crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath.

Wathbone panicked. He dropped the smoking pistol, turned, and sprinted back out into the rain toward the carriage house.