The next morning at breakfast, St Clair dropped an ungodly amount of sugar into his tea, looking all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as if he had never keeled over. Ned wondered if there were dead plants somewhere in the house or if it was just the resilience of youth.

St Clair dismissed the servants, then said, “Blackwood said there are no bodies, and Jas is still unconscious.”

“Your godfather said it may take a while. I spoke to him before he left to warn the others who are on that list. He also found out the address of the asylum Hargrave was committed to. We should start there,” Ned said.

“Hargrave’s been locked in for eleven years. He can wait. I rather think that whoever gave you the notebook should come first. I want to talk to him,” St Clair declared.

Ned almost wished the brat were still too exhausted to argue with him. The very idea of St Clair interrogating Michael was mind-boggling. More importantly, it was a waste of time.

“If Hargrave wrote the list, he may know how Miss Morton got it, too,” he insisted.

The amber eyes searched his face as if they knew exactly that Ned was hiding something.

“Fine then. But if he doesn’t, we are going to the theatre,” St Clair finally said.

Ned saw no reason to promise that and watched him spread butter on a raisin scone before he created a golden lake of honey on it.

“You will have no teeth left by the time you are thirty,” he commented before he could stop himself.

“Warlocks don’t lose teeth or get fat,” St Clair replied, showing off his perfect teeth in a smile.

“How convenient. Finish that quickly. I asked Harrington to get us a cab at nine.”

St Clair glanced at the clock and licked honey from his upper lip. Ned’s gaze involuntarily fixed on the full mouth and pink tongue, triggering a memory that made his heart beat faster.

He pulled himself together as St Clair complained, “Why can’t we take my carriage? It’s more comfortable than a cab and certainly smells better.”

“Do you want people speculating why a carriage with the Ravenstone crest was seen in front of a lunatic asylum?” Ned retorted.

St Clair just shrugged. “I doubt anyone would be surprised. My family is known for eccentrics. Which place is it?”

“Oakwood Retreat in Highgate.”

“That’s where they tried to lock up my great-aunt Felicia when she was my age,” St Clair said.

“Why? Did she chain a strapping footman in the attic to have her way with him?” Ned asked dryly.

“Close. She challenged her unfaithful lover to a duel in Hyde Park and shot him in the …  eh…  offending member.”

Ned tried not to wince but he instinctively pressed his legs together. “Is she still in that asylum?”

“Of course not. She escaped the same night and then ran off to Italy to join the revolution,” St Clair said with a proud grin.

Ned didn’t even try to hide his scepticism. “That sounds like a romanticised family legend, if I ever heard one.”

“Ask Uncle Gio if you don’t believe me. He married her on the barricades in Milan while the Austrians were still shooting at them,” St Clair replied.

Ned gave up. Apparently, there was no such thing as a sane Ravenstone, and Visconti was mad as a hatter.

Thankfully, the butler chose that moment to walk in and spare him further family gossip.

“The cab is here, gentlemen.”

St Clair rose from his seat and straightened his jacket. “We will be back for dinner, Harrington. Don’t let the cook weep into the soup again if we are late. It is not meant as an insult to his art.”

“I’ll do my best, sir. But he is French,” Harrington said gravely and followed them to the door. “Speaking of staff, I’ve taken the liberty of advertising for a new valet for you, sir.”

“Is that really necessary? They don’t last long anyway,” St Clair complained.

“I am afraid it is, sir. We are regrettably understaffed, so I would be obliged if you did not terrify the life out of the next one,” Harrington said and helped him with his coat.

Ned bit his lip to stop himself from grinning. It was unheard of for a butler to make such a remark, but St Clair just sighed and nodded like a scolded child. He put on his hat and glanced up the stairs to the bedrooms.

“Please keep an eye on Jas. If anyone comes looking for him, you have my explicit permission to do whatever is necessary,” he said firmly.

The butler’s thin lips curved into a feral smile as his eyes flashed crimson.

“Very good, sir.”