I told Cecily I was meeting a realtor in the city to look at a few more properties this morning and that I would meet her for lunch at our usual café. I took the folder with me and was planning to tell anyone who asked that it was the research I had done on the London properties I was viewing. But no one asked. In fact, no one was around to see me leave the manor at all. That was odd. But I figured they were all exhausted from the party the previous evening and were choosing to sleep in this morning rather than wake early for the usual family breakfast.

True to my word, I did view two properties that morning but then made my way into town to begin the true intention of my excursion quickly enough. I sent the carriage away, saying I would be doing some light shopping while I waited for Cecily to join me. Instead, I peered through windows at the displays each shop had and waited, glancing over my shoulder now and again to see if he was there. For a long time, he wasn't. But then I watched him exit his office, briefcase in hand, and make his way across the street toward the tea shop I knew he frequented.

I turned and quickened my pace so that I could intersect him along his way. He did not see me approach until I collided with him, spilling the contents of my folders as he spilled the contents of his briefcase. I muttered a curse and knelt to collect my things as he collected his, hoping it looked believable enough for anyone who happened to be watching. He did a fair job at the ruse as well, looking just as put off as I was by the inconvenient collision.

"What are you doing here?" Nathaniel Harrison murmured as we raced to gather our things as two strangers would.

"I need you to take some information to Ryland for me," I whispered back and that was when he noticed that I was not putting my own papers back into my folder at all. Rather, I was placing them carefully inside his briefcase. He glanced up at me in surprise and then, impressed by my ruse, decided to play along. Saying nothing more, he allowed me to place my things within his briefcase, even helping me do so when he realized I wasn't taking anything back. When we had finished, I stood with him and feigned embarrassment. "My sincerest apologies, sir. I will try to be more careful about where I am going."

"See that you do," he answered in a gruff tone so unlike his usual expression. Then he gave me a curt nod and went off into the tea shop as he had intended before. Clutching my now empty folder to my chest, I made my way to the café a few doors down and requested mine and Cecily's usual table.

I waited for her to arrive while staring out at the rich women passing on the street outside, going about their usual shopping and gossiping. After an hour had passed, I determined she wasn't coming. Odd though that was, I figured she had gotten held up in some other capacity. Cecily Keene was a busy woman and we had lunch together frequently enough for her to forget a time or two. So I gathered my things and hailed a cab to return to the Keene manor.

Everything was as quiet as it was when I had left when I arrived. I made my way up the stairs, peering into Cecily's room as I passed but she was not there. By the time I made it to the door of my own room, I was beginning to feel an uneasiness settle itself in the pit of my stomach. And when I opened the door, the feeling only grew to a panic.

My room had been ransacked. The sheets torn from the bed, feathers littering the mattress from the disturbed pillows, every drawer left open and the curtains thrown aside. My closet was in tatters as well, each of Elena's gorgeous dresses thrown about in a heap here or there. My gaze went immediately to the loose board beneath my bed post. It looked undisturbed but, before I could take a step forward to examine it, I heard my name called from downstairs.

"Gwendolyn Marlowe," the voice said. I knew it in an instant as George Keene's own and a chill ran down my spine at the very sound of it. I swept from the room to the top of the stairs, gazing down at him where he stood in the foyer below. He wore a stern expression, his hands planted firmly on his hips, as he gazed up at me with narrowed eyes. There was a thug on each side of him. I gulped. "Come down here."

"Is something wrong?" I tried to sound confident but my voice wavered when I spoke.

"Meet me in my office," he answered simply and strode from the hall to the room in question.

Seeing no way out of it, I forced my shaking legs to make their way down the stairs, clenching my fists as I followed him through the hall and to his office. He was already there when I entered, taking a seat behind his desk as usual. The thugs remained outside. I wasn't sure if that gave me comfort or made me more nervous. I had seen the damage George Keene had wrought with his own hands. He did not need others to do it for him.

He watched me as I came to a stop a few feet in front of him. I remained standing, unsure of whether or not I should sit, uncomfortable with the way he was looking at me. I wondered if I should say something, if I should try to put his mind at ease before whatever conversation was about to occur, but he beat me to it.

"I sent men to Sussex," he said and my heart plummeted straight through my chest to my stomach. "No one there has heard of you."

I stared at him for a moment, blinking as if I was in shock.

"No?" I asked, feeling like a bear caught in a trap. "That's... well, that doesn't make any sense."

"Doesn't it?" he replied, his tone a bit firmer. "No one has heard of Gwendolyn Marlowe or her brother or any rich young man who sent his sister to London to purchase property for him for that matter. My men asked. They asked in pubs, they asked in shops, they even asked in the streets. No one has heard of you or your supposed family."

I did not care for the way he said the word supposed. I felt that I had nibbled a piece of cheese and was just waiting for the trap to spring and cut my head right off. My mind raced for an escape but only gave me an image of the hired thugs standing just beyond that door.

"Who are you?" George Keene asked when my silence seemed to verify his suspicions.

"I-I don't know what you mean," I tried desperately, knowing it was a halfhearted effort at best.

"You aren't Gwendolyn Marlowe. You sure as hell aren't from Sussex. So who are you?"

"I am!" I burst. I hadn't the faintest idea what else I could say. "I am Gwendolyn Marlowe. I am from Sussex. I don't know why-"

"A ring is missing."

I felt the color drain from my face at those words. He noticed. His gaze turned to a glare.

"What?" I queried hopelessly.

"A ring," he repeated, annoyed. "Cecily showed you our private store of jewels, did she not? In the shop? And now a ring is missing."

"Yes," I said slowly, beginning to see a possibility here. "Yes, it is. I-she let me borrow it. She said I could wear it to dinner with Camden. Then one of the women at the ball saw it and wanted to borrow it. I loaned it to her but I can get it back now."

Then, hoping to catch him off guard, I strode promptly out of the room. I prayed that my confidence alone would be enough to make the guards at the door and the servants beyond hesitate long enough for me to make my escape.

"Wait a minute!" George Keene shouted behind me but I was already out of the door and the guards were so confused by my hasty exit that they made no move to stop me.

I made it through the hall and even into the foyer but I could hear George Keene storming after me. In the end, I made it all the way to the front door before I found him in front of me, red in the face and raging.

"You are not going anywhere until you answer every question I have for you," he snarled. "Do you understand me?"

I took a step back away from his fury.

"Michael! William!"

In an instant, I found myself held still as each of George Keene's older sons held one of my arms to keep me in place. I glanced around me wildly, realizing another absence for the first time.

"Where is Camden?" I asked desperately.

"Out of town," Michael smiled down at me. "On an errand."

The last of my hope dwindled at his words. They had sent away my only ally in preparation for this confrontation. There was nothing I could do but plead my case. Though, given the look on George Keene's face, I imagined he wouldn't believe a word I had to say anyway.

"I will ask this one more time," George Keene growled as he took a menacing step toward me. My arms were shaking in the grasp of his burly sons. "Who are you?"

Before I could answer, the door behind him burst open and there stood Alexander Langley with a pistol aimed straight at George Keene's head.