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Ian shrugged. “Eh, go on—I'll tell you after.”

Another mystery. Alec didn’t like the way they were accumulating. He went on with his tale. “Turner’s daughters told me he often goes off—expeditions, he calls them—with little warning, but comes back in a few weeks or even months. He sounds a bit unreliable, but he’s always come home to his family, and flush with funds when he does.

“This time he expressly said he would return in a fortnight, and he left his family no money. Whatever else he's done, so far he has provided for them, including moving house to Marston a year ago, into a modest cottage with some good farmland attached. And here’s where the story grows interesting.”

Angelique's expression sharpened. Ian frowned again.

“There was no ledger in his things. We finally located one, hidden behind a wall panel. He received payments from a printer in London. A little investigation turned up a good bit of money from the printer, most likely for drawings mocking the king and his ministers.”

“You think Stafford wants him found for these drawings?” Angelique looked dubious.

“Perhaps. But why didn’t he set me on the printer from the beginning? It’s much easier to trace a printer than an anonymous artist.”

She acknowledged that with a nod.

“With the ledger was a journal, written entirely in code. Cressida tells me her father was in Spain with Wellington’s army and heard about Bonaparte’s diplomatic cipher, so decided to create his own. What sort of simple sergeant takes the time and effort to create his own cipher for a private journal?”

"Ah," said Ian quietly.

Angelique sat forward in her chair. “What is it you think of this simple sergeant?” she asked, ignoring the rest without a word.

Alec took a deep breath. “I think he’s not so simple. Even with the printer’s money, his income isn’t enough to support his family in the style he preferred. The man’s got debts in every town between here and Portsmouth. Cressida admitted he does that. She says he’s got the devil’s own charm and manages to talk his way around everyone. But the ledger indicates the debts were always paid, eventually. The money just seemed to. . . appear. There are no entries indicating how he got it, just that he spent it.”

“You are very familiar with this daughter,” Angelique said archly. “Perhaps you have other motives for finding the sergeant.”

Alec stiffened. “That would be none of your concern, and it has no bearing on anything I’ve told you.”

She retreated at once, although a wicked smile still curved her lips. “Of course, of course! I only meant to tease. You are always so serious. One must find amusement in this business where one can.”

Alec waved it away. He hadn’t seen much amusing in this assignment, and he didn’t want to be teased. He leaned back in his seat and drummed his fingers on his knee. The most likely reason for Turner’s disappearance was still misadventure or abandonment, and yet.

He couldn't tell Cressida his suspicions, biased as they no doubt were by his years of living among every stripe of liar and cheat, but he needed to tell someone. It was beginning to eat at him, but perhaps Angelique could find a flaw in it. He devoutly hoped she would.

“I wonder if Turner might be blackmailing people,” he said abruptly.

The smile vanished from Angelique’s face. “Have you proof?”

“No.”

Her eyebrow arched. “That is a large accusation to make.”

“I know.” Alec dug his fingers into the tight muscles at the back of his neck. “I would have suspected bribes, but Turner has no authority or power that would invite them. I suppose it could be theft, undertaken on his various expeditions, or even forgery. He seems too memorable a personage to manage those, though. By all accounts he stands out in a crowd.”

Angelique tapped one finger against her lower lip. “What is in this journal? Have you found any evidence that would support your idea?”

“Miss Turner has been working on it.” Alec smiled ruefully. “I haven’t the patience for ciphering. Never had. But still, it’s not the sort of thing you’d leave proof of, would you? Not unless you were a bloody idiot or the most arrogant fool alive.”

She waved one hand. “One must have proof in order to extort a good sum, so if you are correct, it must lie somewhere. You have searched his house, of course.”

“Not a thorough search,” he admitted. “They’ve lost the lease for lack of funds.”

She frowned. “They have left this town?”

Alec cleared his throat. “My sister is friendly with Miss Turner. She. . . invited the family to stay here.”

The look she gave him made Alec want to scowl and scold her. It had been Julia who invited the Turners. . . even if he’d deliberately mentioned their troubles in front of Julia. Even if he’d kissed Cressida and invited her to stay indefinitely at Penford. Even if his heart quickened and his blood heated at the thought of Cressida potentially around every corner he approached. He was drawn to her, no matter how he fought it, and his restraint was crumbling against the constant press of that desire. It had been so long since he truly cared for a woman, Alec had almost forgotten it was possible.

But Angelique seemed to understand this was not the moment to press that point. “See what is in the journal. Perhaps it will explain the money.”