Margaret stared at Cole and sighed. That must have been the tenth time she did. "You are insane," she said, running a thumb over a swollen cheek. "I told you to wait. Why did you come here?" His smile did not even look like a smile. His mouth was swollen as well. "Did you tell Benedict? About Leah?"

He nodded, took her hand in his. "I let him read her letters."

"Oh, Cole," Margaret said, bending down to level their gaze. She leaned her forehead against his. "You just made something easy so much difficult."

"What do you mean?" he whispered, his lips brushing against hers. "What's easy and why is it difficult?"

"Saying yes," she said with a bleak smile.

"I don't think that's too difficult, Meg," he said.

"It is when I have to leave for Sheills."

He stiffened. "You're leaving?"

She pulled away and stood. "Yes."

"For the social season?"

"Yes," she lied. Calan Haverston was waiting for her there. However, her next words were true. "With my brothers. My mother and sisters are also on their way."

Again, she let out a heavy sigh. "You have to go home."

He blinked at her in confusion. "Meg—"

"You have work to do."

"Yes. And I'm working on it."

"And Fiona needs you."

He reached for her hand and pulled her closer to him. "I also believe Fiona needs you."

With a scoff, Margaret drew her hand away from his hold. "She needs a mother, Cole, and you are suggesting I become one. And although I do not find any problem with that, it's rather unfair that you would use the situation to—"

"—And I need you more," he continued, looking up at her with one eye swollen more than it was earlier. His one good eye desperately searched hers. "Do you know how many times I had saddled my horse in the past years? Multiple times, I even managed to pack a satchel or two. Every time with every intent to go to you. But then I would be a coward. Reason would tell me I could never have you back."

Her heart seemed to have stopped inside her chest, her breath caught in her throat. And her face crumpled, her lips trembled with tears.

"Don't cry, darling." His voice was strained. His arms wrapped around her waist and he rested his forehead on her midriff. Then, his shoulders shook as he cried silently. Margaret cried with him. She ran her fingers through his hair, down his nape, his shoulders. "I'll wait."

Margaret freed herself from his hold and came down to cup his face in her hands, finding it wet with tears. She kissed his mouth lightly, her eyes closed.

"When you're ready, I still have the special license I acquired ten years ago," he whispered against her mouth.

Margaret's heart swelled. Her chuckle mingled with her tears. "I don't think it's still valid, my lord," she whispered.

His swollen lips allowed a small smile. "Don't underestimate the Lord of Ashmore, Meg."

"Then hold on to it," she said. Forehead pressed against his, she closed her eyes. "Wait."

His shoulders sagged as he let out a dramatic sigh of disappointment. "I'll have to work for that yes, do I?"

Something flashed before her eyes that alarmed him, but she tearfully laughed it away. "I'll have to make it difficult for you, too, my lord."

***

Maxwell was massaging his knuckles as the three of them waited outside the study door. Nicholas was leaning against the wall, eyes at the ceiling.

Benedict was simply standing, staring blankly, his thoughts elsewhere.

"We've beaten the bloody hell out of the man," Nicholas slowly said, "yet why do I feel like we lost?"

"I've never felt like this in my many nights losing at card games at Grey's," Maxwell wryly said.

"She is going to say yes, the fool," Nicholas ground out. "If not today, soon."

Benedict merely twitched the corners of his lips into a smile.

"Bloody tarnation," Nicholas cursed.

"Prepare your money, Nick," Maxwell said with a snort.

Slowly turning to his brothers, Benedict frowned. "Did you wager on this?"

"It was not my idea," Nicholas answered too fast.

"Who?"

"Ralph. And he's one lucky bastard."

***

The Sheills Season was not particularly famous among those who preferred the Wickhurst Season. However, for ladies who dreamed of romance, it was the perfect one. While most scandalous unions happened during the Wickhurst Season, the most romantic ones would often rise in Sheills. Gentlemen who were serious in finding love matches were everywhere, and ladies who fantasized the same graced balls filled with hope.

"Boring, as always," Nicholas droned as they walked around the ballroom. They had secured an entry into a soiree, but mostly because Margaret needed to be there. Her brothers would not be caught in such events if they could help it, but since they were on guard, they had no choice.

Cole had already gone home back to Ashmore, and had promised to meet her in Wickhurst. By then, she hoped he would have news from Edmund Trilby.

Margaret had been waiting, feeling a little uncomfortable. She rarely graced the Sheills Season and the crowd here was a little different. There were those from Wickhurst she was familiar with, but not many. However, when she saw a woman with brown hair wearing a gigantic rose dress approach her and her brothers, she smiled with familiarity.

"Easton is one lucky bastard," Nicholas said under his breath. "But I wonder if he feels lucky. She looks like she has weapons under that dress. That smile is quite deceiving as well."

"She's a dangerous woman, brothers, I agree. But I don't think Calan Haverston regrets having her as a wife."

"I heard she left him once. That's what rumors say."

"And where did you hear that from?"

"His own brother, of course."

"Which one?"

"Adrien Haverston. Who else?"

"And you believed him?" Maxwell asked, finally breaking his silence.

"Well," Nicholas said, shifting uncomfortably. "He seemed quite sure."

Margaret and Maxwell scoffed, but did not answer.

Cressida Haverston, Lady of Easton, was wearing a bright smile when she stopped in front of Margaret. "I always thought that you are the prettiest amongst the Everards, Lady Margaret," the woman said without a greeting. "Have I ever told you that?" And then she straightened her face, saying, "Of course, I didn't. My husband always takes your time. I think he merely takes me to these events as a cover."

Margaret laughed. "Good evening, my lady. I assume you are not enjoying the party?"

Cressida rolled her eyes and they eventually landed on Nicholas and Maxwell. "My lords. I believe you've been talking about me just seconds earlier. What was it about?"

Nicholas sputtered and coughed. Maxwell simply remained motionless and quiet. "We weren't," Nicholas lied.

Cressida gave him a knowing smile. "May I borrow your sister?" Gently pulling Margaret away from her brothers, Cressida whispered, "There's a very handsome man waiting for you upstairs. Second room to the right."

Margaret chuckled. "Thank you."

"If you can, please don't take long. I hate it when gossips about our marriage arise every time they don't see us together."

"I promise to not keep him away from you too long, my lady."

Cressida accompanied her up the stairs, but left just as immediately. Margaret found the second room to the right and entered. Locking he door behind her, she said, "You wife is quite a challenge, isn't she?"

"Every bloody day," Calan Haverston said with a sigh. "But I do love a challenge."

He was seated in a chair, leg crossed over the other, brandy on the table beside him. They were in a small drawing room, one most probably never used during such occasions. She sauntered to the chair opposite his.

"I received your missive about the brooch."

"I wondered why you inquired about its shape."

She met her mentor's gaze. "The one found in Osmond Trilby's room was oval in shape. Cole Devitt only wears round brooches. I've checked his collection both in his Ashmore estate and the villa in Wickhurst." Her jaw set before she added, "Lady Ida Devitt wears an oval brooch with the Ashmore crest."

His brows cocked high. "And your conclusion?"

"That she may have had an affair with Osmond Trilby. And that you may have another suspect."

"An affair?"

"Cole has spoken of her being unfaithful to her marriage. He doesn't know who his mother had an affair with, but affair or not, it cannot fully support her guilt either. Unless we check her whereabouts on the time of the murder."

Calan Haverston nodded. "It shall be done." He tilted his head to the side with a small knowing smile curling the corner of his mouth. "That's not the reason why you invited me here."

She nodded. "I found nothing that connects Cole to the murder. In fact, I discovered something else."

"I'm listening," he said.

Margaret took a deep breath. This was difficult for her. Cole trusted her to keep his secrets. But she was a Leaguer, and the slavery case was larger than both of them. "I'm telling you this because I trust you, my lord." He did not say anything, simply waited. "The late Lord Ashmore was involved in an illegal trade with powerful people."

"What trade?"

"Slaves."

At the word, Calan Haverston stiffened.

She told him everything Cole told her about the trade and supported it by sharing all information she gathered while looking through his father's effects in Ashmore. All the while, Calan Haverston's demeanor had relaxed, but quickly returned to alarm when she told him about Fiona and Faye. But it was the mention of the Manor that caused his face to tighten, his brow to furrow, and his hand restless under his chin.

When he shifted his position, Margaret realized something. A frown slowly formed on her face. "You know about this."

Her mentor was quiet for a long moment, seemingly considering if he should tell her what he knew. "The League has known about it for years."

Although she had guessed it, Margaret blinked in surprise. "How long?"

"Long enough," Calan said.

"And you know about the Manor."

He nodded. "It's aboveground."

Her eyes widened and she scoffed.

"I found it hard to believe at first," he said. "But we have proven it to be true. We have a valuable witness."

"Who?"

He smiled. "This is a case you're not a part of, Margaret. I cannot tell you."

"It is now. I stumbled on it."

"I mean not officially." Calan sighed, shaking his head. "Only some very trusted people are working on this. Even I cannot trust the entire League."

"At the very least tell me what the Manor is all about. Who runs the place?"

"We don't know. We have names, but like Cole Devitt, we cannot gather enough to get them. All we have is a guest book of members who visit the place."

"Members. What is this place then? A club? A brothel?"

"All those things, I assume. They take people there to serve their paying guests. People from both the Town and aboveground."

Her lips pursed. "They take children, too, my lord."

"Yes, I know."

She scoffed and shook her head. "Could we agree then that Osmond Trilby's death is connected to this case?"

"In theory, we can."

"Cole Devitt can share his work with the League. All he has are code names, but he has evidence of their transactions. You have names, but nothing else. We can work together. We need only to talk to him." Even as she said it, she felt uncertain. The thought of talking to Cole about everything made her stomach churn.

Calan slowly nodded. "I will need to talk to the people working on this case. We have to verify everything."

"The verification you need is in his work. Bring your people and ask for permission to study everything he has."

He smiled again. "This case involves other people the League do not conventionally work with."

"Oh, balderdash. You still think he killed Trilby."

"What I think, Margaret, is that I have to verify your claims. And his. Only then can I say what I think of Cole Devitt."

She sighed and composed herself. Letting the silence linger for a while, Margaret thought of the next words to say. "I don't think I can continue working on this case believing him to be innocent, my lord. My personal relationship with Cole Devitt hinders my ability as a Leaguer."

"You mean you're feeling guilty."

"Of course, I am," she said with a scoff. "I knew this would be an impossible mission."

"You did well, Margaret."

"I don't think so if I can hardly sleep at night knowing I told his secrets to the League. He doesn't trust anyone except me."

Calan nodded in understanding. "Do you wish to be off the case?"

"Yes, because I don't see why we have to dig further into Cole Devitt. If there is any proof of his involvement other than his visit to Osmond Trilby and the brooch, I should have already found them," she said, lifting her chin. "And I want to be transferred to the League's slavery case."

Calan looked at her for a long time, his face bare of any clue of what he thought of her proposal.

"I shall arrange a meeting with Cole. As to the League, we have authority to demand for anything he may have on the case, but I don't want us to take the case off his hands. I want us to work with him. He has his personal reasons for doing this and it's more than enough to trust that he'll be a valuable asset."

"Not if he has outsmarted you and is in fact, not so innocent."

A bitter smile crossed her lips. "He can never kill someone and the only worst sin he ever did was to walk away from love."

Calan Haverston's face was unreadable as it always was when he was thinking. "There are already too many people involved in this than I could wish for, Margaret. Adding another Leaguer and a man suspected of murder is not the most ideal."

"Do what you think is best. As for me, I shall continue working on the slavery case with Cole Devitt because of Fiona and Fay." She paused to raise her brows at him. "And I know you will want to talk to them. However, they have our protection. You have to go through us first if you wish to get more witnesses."

Calan shook his head with a smile. He let out a resigned look. "I'll send word in a week. I'll have to discuss this with the others."

"Splendid." She stood and gave him a small curtsy. "I'll be waiting."

"Margaret," Calan called as she walked to the door. "The Trilbys are quite cunning. Be careful with this Edmund bloke."

"Thank you for the warning, my lord. And it's we," she corrected. "I'm working on this case with Lord Ashmore."