Alex had a choice to make. He could pretend Evelyn Remmington had never knocked on his door, that he'd never spoken to her apart from one or two much-gossiped about public encounters. Or he could be the knight in shining armor she clearly didn't want, and rescue her from her own stupidity.

Her arrest was in the newspapers, of course. She was quickly indicted on the lesser offense of arson, since it was in theory easier to prove, and a guilty verdict would help the prosecution's murder case. And then she was remanded to Newgate Prison to await her trial at the Old Bailey.

He tried not to think about her in there. Newgate was a cesspool, bringing together the worst of humanity--and that was just the guards. The prison reformation movement had yet to reach Newgate, though there wasn't a prison in England that needed it more. It was a cruel irony: Bernard Remmington had supposedly had a hand in building the automaton watchmen that were slowly replacing their human counterparts. His wife was incarcerated in the one prison in England that didn't yet have them, and would suffer for it.

Fortunately, Mrs. Remmington didn't have to stay in Newgate long--less than a week before she was back in the Old Bailey courthouse to stand trial. A sensational case like hers moved straight to the top of the docket and would keep the adjective-jerkers in good employment. London liked nothing better than to see those who rose to great heights crash and burn.

He dreaded the morning paper now, expecting his name to appear alongside hers in the scandal sheets any day now. The arson accusation hinged on her missing whereabouts the night of the fire. And she had a real alibi. All she had to do was tell the jury she was with him, and they would find in her favor. But, inexplicably, she kept her mouth shut. Perhaps she'd thought Alex wouldn't support her claim. Without his backing, the word of an alleged murderer wasn't worth much. The word of a female was worth even less.

Today's morning paper was different. Thomas had had it pressed and folded, exactly the way Alex liked, and he read it with a piping hot cup of coffee, a special brew imported from the Americas. It was a ritual he used to enjoy, before her.

The headline on the front page was printed in glaringly big letters, all capitalized. INVENTOR'S WIFE FOUND GUILTY OF ARSON, it screamed.

A surge of anger ran through him. Why hadn't that fancy barrister she'd hired pressed her to tell the truth about their interlude? Hadn't she told him? Was her pride truly worth more than her life?

He slammed his mug down, hot coffee sloshing over the sides and spilling onto the paper. He shouldn't intervene. He didn't even like Evelyn Remmington. And if he were fool enough to intercede on her behalf, he would draw undue attention to himself, the infamously recalcitrant earl leaping to the defense of his ex-rival's wife. The gossip would be unbearable--worse if any of the screeds managed to get a look at his ruined face. He'd spent the last two years cultivating his reputation as a recluse precisely to avoid this sort of scrutiny. His life's work depended on it.

"You've coffee on your cravat," Thomas remarked blandly. "Though why you still bother to wear one is a mystery to me."

Alex scowled at the man who was far more than a butler. "I'm not yet a complete heathen."

"Not yet," Thomas agreed, summoning an autobot to clean up the spilt coffee. "You know," he said after a healthy pause, "I don't think I've ever seen you this riled up over a woman before."

"I'm not riled up," Alex growled.

"I wonder what makes this one different," Thomas mused, having fun with it now. "She's certainly not your usual type. You used to like them blonde and buxom. Although I suppose beggars can no longer afford to be choosers."

Alex scowled at his so-called friend. "I should dock your salary for that."

Thomas didn't appear overly concerned. "You really ought to marry," he continued. "Take a wife and get an heir on her before your balls turn to brass. Or the illustrious Westmorland earldom will go to that simpleton cousin of yours. What was his name again?"

"Cousin Horace," Alex replied between closed teeth. "And I'll burn it to the ground before I let him touch it."

Thomas clasped his hands to his chest. "Our little arsonist has inspired you. How touching."

Alex ground his teeth. "She's not my little anything. What she is, is a nuisance."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Thomas quipped. His expression sobered, and he stared long and hard into Alex's ruined face. "You're not telling me something. I thought we agreed we would no longer keep secrets from each other."

The last time Alex had kept a secret from his oldest friend, Thomas nearly died and Alex wound up with a face full of metal. He owed Thomas far more loyalty than a woman he barely knew, but he still felt conflicted. "It's not my secret to tell," he hedged.

Thomas folded his arms over chest. "And does this secret have anything to do with the Keepers?"

"Maybe?" Alex took a deep breath and blew out the air in a sigh. "Alright. Never let it be said I make the same mistake twice. Bernard Remmington was a fraud."

"Speak ill of the dead, why don't you," his friend said dryly.

"I'm serious, Thomas. Bernard Remmington was never an inventor. Evelyn Remmington was the brains behind the man."

Thomas' eyes widened a fraction, and then he started to laugh.

"It isn't a laughing matter," Alex snapped. "One of the greatest minds in London might be hung for a crime she didn't commit."

"I apologize," Thomas gasped, wiping his eyes. "N-not funny at all that the only man in London to rival your genius was a woman all this time."

Alex gazed at him coolly. "I don't subscribe to Charles Darwin's nonsense about our gender's so-called intellectual superiority. That man is an idiot and a plagiarist."

Thomas had the grace to look sheepish. "You're right, of course. Though you must admit, it is an unconventional pursuit for the fairer sex. Science is a messy business."

"So is childbirth."

Thomas inclined his head. "Touché." Alex flinched. Furrowing his eyebrows, Thomas asked, "What did I say?"

Alex waved him away. "It's nothing. But let us return to the point: Bernard Remmington might have been a fraud, but no one apart from his wife knew it. And now he's dead, murdered in gruesome fashion, a key part of his anatomy missing."

Thomas' eyes sharpened behind his spectacles. "Did the body show any signs of magical attack?"

"I don't know," Alex admitted. "I haven't been able to examine the body yet. Those nincompoops in the morgue are still poking at it."

"Captain MacDonald couldn't grant you special access?"

"MacDonald is still in Bath or some such place with his new wife. O'Doyle is handling the Remmington case in his absence."

Thomas let out a low whistle. "Good luck getting past him. The man hates you."

"I'm aware, thank you." The big Irishman was a religious man and thought nanobiology was the devil's work, a corruption of God's original plan. O'Doyle had objected vociferously to his augmentation, and would never have agreed to the procedure if the chief of police hadn't mandated it. Rather than blame the chief for his unnatural eye, he chose to direct his anger at his surgeon. Alex had always viewed O'Doyle as a minor irritant. Now the detective was in Alex's way.

"Yet even without concrete evidence, you still think the Keepers orchestrated Remmington's murder."

"I do."

"The wife has more motive," Thomas pointed out. "Without his inventions, he has little to recommend him. He took the credit for his wife's work and couldn't be bothered to keep his affairs discrete."

Alex leaned forward in his chair. "Bernard Remmington was unfaithful?"

Thomas gave him a strange look. "Did you think extramarital affairs were the purview of the aristocracy? The only man who doesn't keep a mistress is the one who can't afford one."

"I don't keep a mistress," said Alex. "And unless you live a double life that even I am not aware of, neither do you."

"Your work is your mistress," Thomas retorted. He cracked a smile. "I guess that makes me your mistress' bitch."

"I think Nova might object to your usurpation of her title."

"Where is that damn dog?" Thomas muttered.

As if prescient, Nova came bounding into the dining room, wagging her mechanical tail. Like her master, Nova was more metal than fur at this point, though unlike Alex, she didn't seem bothered by it. At seventeen years old, Nova was ancient for a Siberian husky, but thanks to her enhancements, she still had the energy of a puppy. She'd been Alex's first augmentation—a desperate, half-cocked endeavor to save the broken dog he'd found beaten half to death in the street. At fifteen, Alex was only a decent student, bored by his teachers at Harrow but smart enough to scrape by without paying them any attention. He certainly knew nothing of anatomy or surgery. If he hadn't discovered a latent talent for magic, Nova would have died on the operating table. And all his magic did was keep her alive long enough to get her to a real veterinary surgeon.

Nova was the reason Alex and the Keepers didn't see eye to eye. Magic and science weren't enemies; they were natural allies that, when used together, were far greater than the sum of their parts.

Thomas made a big show of disliking dogs—and Nova in particular—but Alex knew he was already scritching behind her ears under the table. "Little stinker," Thomas murmured affectionately.

"Admit it, you love her."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "She only annoys me half as much as you." Nova let out an emphatic woof in agreement. "You've always wanted to rescue the underdog. Is that why you're so bothered by Evelyn Remmington? Because you think she needs saving?"

"I am not bothered by that woman. I am bothered that the world may lose out on critical progress. The Keepers would not have killed such a high-profile man unless they thought he was onto something that threatened their hold on the government."

"You're certain the Keepers are behind this."

"No," Alex admitted. "But I'm certain it wasn't Evelyn Remmington."

Thomas met his gaze with an arched eyebrow, then pushed back his chair and stood up.

"What are you doing? Alex asked.

Thomas was already walking away when he responded, facing Alex with a knowing look. "I'm fetching the carriage. We have a lady to jailbreak, don't we?"