“Bloody hell.”

The shots had not gone unnoticed. Shouts of alarm sounded from bedroom windows around the square.

He went back to the nymph to retrieve his hat and coat. Sticking to the shadows as much as possible to avoid notice by the people peering down from the windows, he made his way through the park and crossed the street.

He should not call on her now, he thought. Nevertheless, he found himself going up the steps of Number Twelve. She would want a report of events. She was a member of the press, after all. And he wanted to see her very badly.

He did not need to bang the knocker. The door was jerked open before he could lift a hand. Louisa stood in the opening, peering anxiously through her spectacles. “Dear heaven, what happened? I heard the shots. I rushed downstairs and looked out the window and saw you coming across the street. Are you all right? What are you doing here? Were you attacked by a footpad?”

The sight of her elevated his mood immediately. He had been right, he thought, oddly pleased. She did look delightfully inviting clad in a robe and slippers. The vital question of the evening was answered. She slept with her hair down.

“Dear heaven, he put two bullets right through your coat.” Louisa stared, stricken, at the back of the coat. “You could have been killed.”

“Except that I wasn’t wearing the coat at the time.” Anthony crossed the study to the brandy table and picked up the decanter. He watched Louisa hold the coat up to the light, verifying yet again that, yes, one could see straight through the holes in the back. He found her outraged concern deeply touching, but her lack of logic made him smile. “I told you, it was draped over the statue.”

“He’s right, dear,” Emma said gently. “Mr. Stalbridge explained to you that he was not wearing the coat when he, or rather it, was shot.”

“That’s not the point.” Louisa flung the coat across the back of the sofa and whirled back around to face Anthony. “The point is that you should never have taken such a risk. Walking the streets alone at night. Whatever were you thinking, sir?”

He swallowed some of the brandy and lowered the glass. “I was under the impression that this was a respectable neighborhood.”

“It is, but that doesn’t mean that people should just wander around alone at all hours making inviting targets for every passing footpad.”

“It wasn’t a footpad who shot my coat,” he said quietly.

Louisa and Emma both looked at him.

“What on earth do you mean?” Louisa whispered.

“I’m almost certain it was Hastings.” He paused, reflecting. “Although I suppose it could have been Easton.” He shook his head. “I believe that Easton was too drunk to follow me in the fog, let alone aim a gun. However, given that I could not be absolutely positive, I held my own fire.”

“Dear heaven,” exclaimed Louisa, eyes widening. “You’re carrying a gun?”

“Bought it when I was in the American West. Guns are quite common there. In the wake of Thurlow’s unanticipated demise, it seemed prudent to keep it on my person.” He shrugged. “Not that I would have been likely to hit a running target tonight, not in that fog. One of the things I learned in my travels in the Wild West was that revolvers are notoriously inaccurate except at close range.”

“Oh, my,” Emma said. “This is a most disturbing development.”

“What makes you think it was Hastings?” Louisa demanded.

Anthony reflected briefly. “Right height. Something about the way he moved. I believe he followed me from the club, waiting for an opportunity.”

“An opportunity to murder you.” Louisa sank down onto a chair, appalled. “Dear heaven. He knows we are investigating him.”

“Not necessarily,” Anthony said. “I think it is more likely that he has reasoned out that I was the one who took the necklace and the blackmail items from the safe. That’s all he knows at this point, but it is more than enough to make him extremely worried. He has no way of knowing what I intend to do with the extortion evidence or the necklace.”

Louisa’s brows snapped together. “Why did you come here at such a late hour tonight?”

“I wanted to warn you that there are some unfortunate wagers going down in the club books.”

Emma looked up, eyes sharp with concern. “What sort of wagers?”

Anthony tightened his grip on the brandy glass. “The gamblers are betting on the name of the married woman with whom I am supposedly intimately involved.”

Emma frowned. “I thought everyone believes that you and Louisa are engaged in a romantic liaison.”

“Easton is putting it about that I am using an innocent lady, namely Louisa, to conceal an affair with some other gentleman’s wife,” he explained quietly.

“Ridiculous,” Louisa said briskly. “I am hardly an innocent lady.”

Anthony looked at her. So did Emma. Neither spoke.

Louisa raised her chin. “I am a journalist.”

Out of the corner of his eye Anthony saw Emma lift her eyes to the ceiling and then take a healthy swallow of brandy. He followed suit.

“If we might return to the more pressing matter of the shooting?” Louisa said with a quelling glare.

“Indeed.” He inclined his head. “I think it is safe to say that it is a good sign.”

“A good sign?” Louisa gasped. “Someone just tried to murder you.”

“And he failed.” Anthony contemplated the logic of the situation. “He took a wild chance and blundered badly. He will be much more cautious the next time because he knows that I am now on my guard.”

“The next time?” Louisa was beyond horrified now.

“Cheer up, my sweet.” He savored the little rush of satisfaction that flashed through him. “I believe we are making progress.”

“How can you call nearly getting murdered in the park progress?” she demanded, outraged.

Emma gave Anthony a considering look. “If you are right about Hastings being the one who tried to kill you tonight, I think it is safe to say that you have shaken his nerve. He must be feeling quite anxious, indeed, if he took the risk of attempting to murder a Stalbridge.”

He swirled the brandy in his glass. “I certainly hope so. Anxious men make mistakes.”

“I must tell you that we were all vastly relieved to hear the gossip about you and Anthony,” Clarice confided cheerfully.

Louisa tripped over a small stone on the path. She staggered a bit and nearly lost her grip on her parasol before she caught her balance.

“You were relieved?” she managed to say, aware that her mouth was probably hanging open in a most unbecoming fashion.

She and Clarice were strolling through the extensive gardens behind the Stalbridges’ large house. Anthony had remained inside with his parents.

This was not the first time Louisa had been flummoxed by a statement from one of the Stalbridge clan. It had been like this since Anthony had escorted her into the family’s elegant drawing room an hour ago and made introductions.

Nothing had gone quite as she had expected. In spite of Anthony’s reassurances to the contrary, she had been braced for grim disapproval. Instead she was welcomed with unsettling enthusiasm. No one seemed the least bit horrified by the gossip that implied that she was having an affair with Anthony. Neither did anyone show any indication of being shocked by her career as a correspondent for the Flying Intelligencer. Instead, Mr. and Mrs. Stalbridge and Clarice had been all that was charming and gracious. They seemed fascinated rather than appalled by her.

The discovery that Mrs. Stalbridge and Clarice were both devoted adherents of the rational dress movement had come as another pleasant surprise. Then again, she thought, why had she anticipated that the members of Anthony’s family would be any less out of the ordinary than he was? Emma had warned her that the Stalbridges were considered to be eccentrics, one and all.