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Emmett turned at the deep baritone of Fortescue Cunning. The young fellow had recently received the title of Baron of Eure. Lucky bloke.
Cunning sipped at a glass of sherry and Emmett’s collar tightened like a noose about his neck. Few in high society knew of his past, fewer still would dare to share it about the ton, but Cunning wasn’t one of them. He’d sell his mother’s soul to the devil if he thought he’d make a pence. Did he know?
“Do tell me how you discovered Tyrrel’s involvement in stealing the Crusader’s Cross.”
Emmett pointed a trembling finger in Hesper’s direction. Confidence, he needed to display more confidence.
“Ah, so the self-absorbed Miss Rotherham brought the plot to your attention.”
The statement held the hint of a question. Emmett swallowed and nodded. His lips quivered. “Aye.”