“The supposed suicide two weeks ago of a man named Phillip Grantley,” Anthony said.

Louisa looked at Emma for clarification. Emma shook her head, indicating she was equally mystified. That meant that Grantley had not moved in Society.

Louisa turned back to Anthony. “Who was Phillip Grantley?”

“My informant told me that Grantley was well acquainted with Elwin Hastings. It appears that Grantley handled Hastings’s business affairs. Hastings happens to be in the midst of putting together another investment consortium, just as he was last year when Fiona and Mrs. Hastings died. I found the coincidences too intriguing to ignore.”

Comprehension struck Louisa. She sat forward, excitement pulsing through her. “That is why you attended the same balls and receptions that I attended this past week. We were both seeking information on the other members of Hastings’s investment consortium.”

“Yes.” He smiled faintly. “I noticed you when I found myself practically tripping over you in Lord Hammond’s library.”

She had just picked up her cup. Shocked, she set it down again with a loud clang of chine-on-china. “What are you talking about?”

“On the night of the Hammond ball you entered the library in what could only be described as a furtive manner about thirty seconds after I got there.”

She stared at him, appalled. “You were already inside the library that night?”

“I sought shelter behind the draperies,” he said. “It was a bit awkward. Can’t recall the last time I was obliged to conceal myself in that fashion.”

“Good heavens.” Chastened, Louisa slumped back in her chair. “You were actually there in the library when I searched it? I was so sure I had been unobserved.”

“As you can imagine, my curiosity was aroused,” Anthony said, watching her intently.

“Later that evening you requested an introduction,” Emma observed.

That was the night he had first danced with her, Louisa thought wistfully. The night when she had allowed herself to dream a little.

“When I noticed you slip away to search Wellsworth’s library a few evenings later,” Anthony continued, his attention still on Louisa, “it became clear that we might well share a mutual interest in Hastings. Last night you confirmed my theory. I think the time has come to pool our resources.”

“Hmm,” Louisa said.

“Before we proceed,” Anthony added deliberately, “I have a question of my own. Considering how much I have confided in you, I would appreciate an answer. In fact, I think it is fair to say that I deserve one.”

She sat back in her chair. “You want to know why I am investigating Hastings’s financial affairs.”

“It seems a reasonable question under the circumstances.”

Reasonable or not, she would have to answer it, she decided. If she did not, he would probably refuse to join forces. And it was clear to her now that that was the only way she would be able to pursue the investigation to its conclusion. The lure of reporting two murders in Society was irresistible.

“Very well, I will do so, sir, under one condition.”

Emma pursed her lips. “Louisa, I am not at all certain this is a good idea.”

“Forgive me,” Louisa said gently, “but I feel I have no choice.” She looked at Anthony. “Will you agree?”

“It depends on the condition,” he said evenly.

“If you wish my assistance in this matter, you must agree to a partnership.”

Anthony’s eyes tightened a little at the corners. “You wish to become involved in an affair of murder, Mrs. Bryce?”

“I wish to help you investigate Mr. Hastings,” she corrected evenly. “I am not yet convinced that you are right when you say that he is a murderer twice over. Nevertheless, you have made me sufficiently curious to want to inquire more deeply into the matter.”

“Why the devil would you want to help pursue a killer? It is dangerous work.”

“Yes,” Emma put in swiftly. “Very dangerous work. Louisa, I really don’t think you should go forward with this plan. You take enough risks as it is.”

There was a short silence. Anthony switched his attention to Emma.

He had picked up the scent, Louisa thought. There would be no distracting him now.

“Very well, sir.” She folded her hands together. “I will explain myself, but I must warn you that there really is no choice but to cooperate. If you do not, we will likely continue to find ourselves tripping over each other for the foreseeable future.”

Anthony studied her. “Mrs. Bryce, are you so bored with Society that you seek to take grave risks to your person merely to amuse yourself?”

“I am going to tell you something that very few people know. Emma is one of those people. Another is the editor and publisher of the Flying Intelligencer.”

“That rag? What in blazes can you possibly have to do with a disreputable paper that thrives on the most lurid sensations?”

She had expected that reaction, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, she was crushed and annoyed by his casual disdain.

“As it happens,” she said coolly, “I am a correspondent for that disreputable rag.”

Anthony went very still. It was, she reflected, the first time she had seen him stopped cold in his tracks. She tried to take some satisfaction from that turn of events. His opinion of her had no doubt plummeted to a very low point, but at least she had managed to startle him. She had the feeling that did not happen very often.

“You are a correspondent?” he repeated, his voice quite neutral.

“A secret correspondent,” she clarified. “I write under the name I. M. Phantom.”

“Well, it no doubt serves me right.” He shook his head and then his mouth twitched a little.

She glowered. “You find my career amusing, sir?”

“Astonishing would be a better word.” He paused. “My sister would be thrilled to meet you.”

Louisa brightened. “She reads my work?”

“Of course. But that is not the only reason why she would enjoy making your acquaintance. As it happens the two of you have a great deal in common.”

“I don’t understand. Is your sister also a correspondent?”

“No, but she is in a similar profession, one that, like yours, compels her to conceal her identity.”

“What does she do?” Louisa asked eagerly. She had never encountered another woman who had also assumed a false identity.

“She writes plays under the name E. G. Harris.”

“I know her work.” Louisa was barely able to contain her excitement. “Her plays are staged at the Olympia Theater. The current one is Night on Sutton Lane. I went to see it last week. There are several thrilling sensations including the most astonishing scene of a ship sinking at sea.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“One believes the heroine must surely drown because she was involved in an illicit love affair, and everyone knows that illicit love affairs always come to bad ends in sensation dramas. Nevertheless, at the last minute a gentleman appears out of nowhere and saves her.” Louisa sighed. “Unfortunately, he is not Nigel, the man whom she loved.”

“As I recall, Nigel was already married,” Anthony said.

“Yes, but he didn’t know it, you see. He thought his wife was dead when she had actually been locked up in an asylum by her scheming brother.”

“I assure you I have seen the play, Mrs. Bryce. There is no need to describe it.”

She blushed, embarrassed. “Yes, of course.”

Emma chuckled. “Louisa is a great fan of your sister’s plays, sir.”

“So I see.” Anthony raised his brows. “It so happens that I have read some of your news reports, Mrs. Bryce.”

“I’m surprised to hear you admit that you have read anything printed in the Flying Intelligencer.” But a little thrill of pleasure went through her. He had read her work.

“The Intelligencer has two categories of readers,” he said dryly. “Those who will admit to reading it and those who will not admit to reading it. That is especially true since I. M. Phantom’s pieces began appearing. I offer you my sincere congratulations, Mrs. Bryce. You have managed to astound Society on a number of occasions with your revelations of scandal in high places.”