“You think I’m a fucking informer!”
The Tory breathed in and out. “I don’t think you’re an informer. But I have seen quite enough men inform on their friends, given inducement. How do you think we came to this shop?”
“Someone squawked, did they?” Silas bared his teeth. “Going to tell me who?”
“No.” The Tory stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his expensive coat—to hide their shaking, Silas would have wagered. “I know you are a seditionist. I don’t know how much of one. I imagine we will be back to find out. And I cannot spare you the consequences of what you have done because of what we have done. I cannot and I will not.”
“You think I was expecting that? You think I expected help? Think I was waiting for you to call your men to order or give me a fair hearing, Tory?” He spat the word. Frey’s face was pale and drawn. “I know you now. I know right well what I can expect of you. So you just go off and do your duty, why don’t you, without worrying your pretty head about me. I don’t inform.” He gave the Tory a savage, mirthless grin. “Some of us have principles.”
—
Dominic made it through the rest of the day like a puppet on a single string. His limbs dragged. His skin felt as though it didn’t fit.
Silas. Silas Mason. The coarse name suited him, Dominic found himself thinking, and pushed the thought aside, but that just left space for the other thoughts, none of them welcome.
He listened to Skelton’s angry complaints of inadequate staffing and unenthusiastic searching, doing his best to nod along.
“They should have torn the place apart,” Skelton concluded. “He’s Cade. I’m sure of it. Have you ever seen a guiltier countenance?”
“Perhaps not, but I didn’t see any evidence either,” Dominic said. “Your belief isn’t enough to make a case.”
“I’ll find the evidence, believe me. Are you well, Mr. Frey? You look…”
Dominic grasped at the excuse. “I fear I may have some ailment, yes.”
“You looked dreadful in the bookshop,” Skelton said. “White as a ghost. Go home, sir.”
Dominic managed a smile. “I will.”
He took a hackney to Richard’s house in Albemarle Street. He’d sent a note to Richard late the previous night to let him know about the raid, so Harry would doubtless be there, or on his way, and probably his lover Julius with him, standing guard like a nervy whippet. They all came to Richard; everybody did. Richard knew what to do. Richard would help. Dominic clung to that.
It didn’t work as he’d hoped.
Julius and Harry arrived a few moments after he did, before he and Richard had had any chance to talk. Harry was white-faced and terrified. Julius’s fine, cold features were set like stone. Richard was simply furious, and Dominic, confronted with the full magnitude of the disgrace looming over them all, couldn’t face it. He doubled over as he sat, head in hands, struggling to breathe.
“For Christ’s sake, Frey!” Julius barked. “Sit up, pull yourself together, and talk to us!” The poised exquisite had been a cavalry officer at Waterloo, something that Dominic occasionally forgot in his impatience with Julius’s finicky ways, and his abrasiveness was more effective than any sympathy. Dominic forced himself upright and made himself recount the raid.
“Did they find anything?” Harry demanded.
“No. Our men made a damned mess of the place looking, but if there is anything illicit going on at the bookshop—don’t tell me—if there is, we didn’t find it.”
Harry collapsed into a seat, with evident relief, and Dominic’s last hope withered away at that unconscious admission. Harry knew something was going on, and was glad it hadn’t been discovered, and that meant it still could be. Would be, because Skelton was on the scent.
Silas was guilty. Dominic hadn’t known how much he had hoped it wouldn’t be true.
“Was this what you wanted to tell me last night?” Harry was asking.
He had gone late to Quex’s, the gentleman’s club and gambling hell where the Ricardians gathered, with a stupid, quixotic urge to warn Harry, and what would that have achieved but to spare a damned seditious criminal? “I shouldn’t have done. I was wrong to try. It was a matter of duty.”
“Your efforts were entirely useless, if that makes you feel better.” Julius had a vicious edge to his voice, and no wonder. He was protecting his lover. That was what lovers did for each other. Protected. Helped. They didn’t turn on one another or leave each other to swing alone.
A warm hand gripped Dominic’s shoulder, a touch he’d know out of a thousand. “Dom?” Richard said. “Is there something else?”