Книга - Regency: Rakes & Reputations: A Rake by Midnight / The Rake’s Final Conquest

Regency: Rakes & Reputations: A Rake by Midnight / The Rake's Final Conquest
Gail Ranstrom

Dorothy Elbury


A Rake by Midnight… James Hunter cannot forget the night he rescued Eugenia O’Rourke from a terrifying ordeal and, despite his fearsome reputation, he’s taken the unlikely role as her protector. Gina fears the return of her villainous captor, but it seems that James is willing to do more than just protect her.A Governess’s Reputation… The wild and rakish Marcus Wolfe, Viscount Helstone, has more than earned the name of Hellcat Helstone. No woman could hold him…that is, until he meets outspoken governess Sophie Flint, whose refusal to become his mistress has Marcus in a spin. Has the viscount finally been tamed by the forthright Miss Flint? Two BRAND-NEW, DAZZLING Regency tales!










REGENCY

Rakes & Reputations

A Rake by Midnight Gail Ranstrom

The Rake’s Final Conquest Dorothy Elbury




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A Rake by Midnight

Gail Ranstrom




About the Author


GAIL RANSTROM was born and raised in Montana and grew up spending the long winters lost in the pages of books that took her to exotic locales and interesting times. The love of that ‘inner voyage’ eventually led to writing. She has three children, Natalie, Jay and Katie, who are her proudest accomplishment. Part of a truly bi-coastal family, she resides in Southern California with her two terriers, Piper and Ally, and has family spread from Alaska to Florida.




Prologue


London, England

July 13, 1821

Her first awareness was of bone-chilling cold at her back, then the incessant cadence of muted voices. She blinked in the flickering red-hued darkness, but pungent smoke stung her eyes so she closed them again, waiting for the air to clear. Incense? No. Something acrid that clogged and burned the back of her throat. Something more intoxicating?

She tried to focus, to gain her bearings, but found the task impossible. Searching her mind for her last lucid memory, she had a vague notion of drinking a glass of wine—bitter wine—given to her by a handsome blondish man. Mr. Henley? Her stomach roiled and she feared she would vomit.

She ached. Every muscle, every part of her, screamed in outrage, but she did not know why. Time was shifting, blurring. She couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t she remember?

The chanting stopped and a single voice rose above her. Someone standing at her head. The shadows closed in, then leaned over her, becoming vague faces and outlines. Yes. She was elevated, lying on a stone slab. The man above her stopped talking and reached over her to open whatever was covering her.

Bare! She was being exposed to all those faces surrounding her. She tried to move, to cover herself, but her limbs did not respond. Why couldn’t she move?

Nameless terror squeezed her chest, cutting off her breath. She tried to scream, but she could only utter a tiny squeak barely audible above the chanting of dozens of voices. Everything had gone dreadfully wrong, but she could not make sense of it.

Another man appeared, kneeling between her legs. Lifting his robes. She knew. Oh, now she knew. She was to suffer Cora’s fate.

Now terror had a name. The Brotherhood.

“No!” a distant voice screamed. Her sister’s voice? Dear Lord! All was lost if they had Bella, too.

But suddenly the night was chaos and nothing made sense to her muddled mind. The clash of blades, shouts, shrill whistles and, suddenly, a blade at her throat. Searing pain. The warm ooze of blood as it seeped from her wound. She turned her head and closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable, praying it would be quick.

But death did not come. Instead she registered the sound of running feet and distant shouts. A warm cloak covered her nakedness as she was lifted from the stone altar and cradled in strong arms. The cloying smell of incense still heavy in the air permeated his robe, but there was an underlying scent of clean masculinity. Something heated and strong. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulder and arm, terrified he’d let her go. Terrified, too, that he might not have come to save her. She opened her eyes, knowing it was too late to fight anyway.

James Hunter. Oh, why did it have to be him?




Chapter One


September 12, 1821

Night again. Darkened streets, shifting movements in the shadows, muffled sounds, whispers on the wind, the damp chill of a suffocating fog. And always, the impending threat of disaster at her back. Gina O’Rourke hated the night, though she had begun to live her life in the hours between dusk and dawn—as if nothing evil could happen to her if she kept watch.

She brimmed with relief as she watched the lamplighter touch his torch to the lamppost outside the sitting room window. She could have sworn there were shadows in the park across the way.

Turning away from the window, she picked up her embroidery and sat by the fire where the light was best. As she pushed the needle through the fine linen she tried to direct her thoughts to the future, something she had not been able to do since that night.

Tomorrow, perhaps, she would speak to her brother-in-law about finding her and Mama a place of their own. Andrew and Bella should have a chance to be alone, and to nurture their marriage without Mama’s interference. Nothing so far away as St. Albans, but perhaps a cottage in St. John’s Woods would do nicely. There, Mama could complain and fuss to her heart’s content with no one inconvenienced. Except Gina. But there was something…safe in that sort of life. Safe and comforting, as only the familiar could be.

Yes, a quiet life without drama or danger was just the thing. No one would ever have to know about her past—about that night. She could stop racking her brain, trying to remember the horrid bits and pieces that came before finding herself carried away from the altar, cradled in James Hunter’s arms. Just his scent, woodsy and heated, had calmed her then. Now the memory of it unsettled her in a most troubling way.

The front bell rang, followed by the sound of boots and a muted voice speaking with Andrew’s butler in the foyer. She glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. Andrew’s meeting had run quite late, and he was still closeted in the library with Lord Wycliffe, but who would call at midnight? She stood, ready to make a quick retreat, but she was not quick enough. James Hunter appeared in the doorway and removed his hat.

“I beg your pardon, Miss O’Rourke. I came to see my brother and Edwards asked me to wait while he informs Drew that I am here. He must not have known you were using the room.”

Gina struggled to think of something to say but found herself tongue-tied. She sank back on the settee, her heart racing, and wondered if her mere thoughts had been enough to summon him. Stranger things than that had happened to her lately.

Leaving now would be obvious and rude. And revealing. She retrieved her needlework again and rested it on her lap, praying her fingers would not tremble when she took up her needle.

“I believe he is in some sort of late meeting, Mr. Hunter,” she told him. “I doubt you will have long to wait.”

“With such charming company, I shall pray he delays.”

She met his gaze and realized he was just being mannerly, and only because her sister was married to his brother. All the Hunter brothers were polite to a fault. Still, she could never encounter him without reading the memory of that wretched night in the depths of his violet-blue eyes. She saw pity there, too, and abhorred the thought that she was pitied. She could not help but wonder if he still saw her as she’d been that night—naked until he had covered her with his cloak. Heat shot through her and she swallowed her tiny moan at the mere thought.

He dropped his hat on a chair and went to a console table to avail himself of the sherry bottle there. He glanced at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow by way of invitation.

“No, thank you,” she murmured, looking toward the sitting room door. Where was Edwards? And why did James, of all people, have to find her alone?

“How have you been, Miss O’Rourke?”

“Well, thank you.” She glanced down at her embroidery but her right hand went to a spot near the hollow of her throat and the livid gash of scar tissue there. She met his gaze, swallowed hard and dropped her hand quickly. Why did he have to be so devilishly handsome? She might be able to bear it if only he were old or ugly or boorish instead of tall and uncommonly good-looking!

“I am glad to hear it,” he murmured.

She stood, gripping her embroidery hoop in her left hand. “I…I am a bit fatigued. If you will excuse me?” She took several steps toward the door.

His eyes narrowed and he moved to block her way. “No.”

Surely she had not heard him correctly. “What?”

“No, I will not excuse you. I’ve had just enough to drink to not give a damn for social niceties. ‘Tis past time we had a talk, Miss O’Rourke. We cannot keep on as we have been.”

A slow chill seeped through her. Surely he did not mean to discuss that night? “I do not know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. We must come to an understanding for the sake of our families.”

“We are not at odds.”

He took a swallow of his sherry and studied her with darkened eyes. “Being at odds would require a misunderstanding. Alas, that would require conversation. And we, Miss O’Rourke, have had precious little of that. Mere niceties exchanged in public is our forte. This is the first time we have been alone since…well, ever, and I intend to make use of it. God only knows when the opportunity may arise again.”

“And my wishes?”

He shook his head. “I have tiptoed around your wishes, Miss O’Rourke, and could continue to do so for the next millennium if left to you.”

He was right. She would never have chosen to have this conversation. Never have spoken it aloud. And this was, perhaps, the worst count against the infamous Blood Wyvern Brotherhood—they had robbed her of self-respect and dignity. The men at that ritual had been cloaked and hooded. She had not seen their faces, but they had seen her. All of her. And now, when a man looked at her and smiled, she wondered if he had been one of them—one of the villains who had meant to rape and kill her that night.

“I…I really think …”

“Your sister is married to my brother. For that reason alone, there will be countless times in the future when we are in each other’s company. It would be easier if we could come to an understanding instead of this awkwardness we now engage in.”

Gina looked down at her slippers, just peeking from beneath the hem of her yellow gown. “That night…you …”

A full minute passed before James finally filled the void. “I can think of nothing I did that night to provoke your ire. I did everything I could to shield your modesty and to stop the bleeding….”

She was grateful. Truly grateful. But why could he not understand that, in her weakest moment, with nothing to hide her modesty, he had witnessed her deepest humiliation. He would never forget it—she had seen that much in his eyes. Each time he looked at her or talked to her, he would recall her as she’d been that night.

Panic and now-familiar anger began to bubble upward. She needed to escape before she said or did something unforgivable.

He stood between her and the door, and she tried to skirt past him. He reached out to stop her with a hand on her arm. She gasped at the warmth of his touch and the queasy sensations it stirred in her middle.

He lowered his voice as he drew nearer, and the heat of his breath tickled her ear as he leaned toward her. “I thought you and Isabella were so brave that night, to hunt down your sister’s killers. I felt nothing but admiration for you. And for that, you shun me?”

Not for that, but for the knowledge in his eyes and the hours before her rescue. Hours that were still a blank to her. She could not go forward until she knew what transpired during that time. Had she been assaulted? Was she still a maiden? She looked up into his questioning eyes and shivered, trying desperately to think of something to say.

“Despite any personal feelings, for the sake of our families, Miss O’Rourke, shall we declare a truce?”

Personal feelings? The notion that he might dread seeing her, too, had not occurred to her before. She managed a slight nod. She’d agree to anything if he’d just let her go.

“Mr. Hunter will see you now.”

They spun to find Edwards standing in the doorway.

A muscle jumped along James’s jaw. He released her arm without another word, stepped back and bowed. “Miss O’Rourke, a pleasure, as always.”

Gina watched him depart, then went to the console table to pour sherry into a glass and nearly choked on it as she drank it in a single gulp. She had to find those answers. To fill in those lost hours. She could never really be herself again until she did. And she needed to know that those men would never hurt another woman.

She placed her empty glass beside Mr. Hunter’s and squared her shoulders. No more cowering in the dark. She would reclaim her life if it was the last thing she did!

Jamie studied the fire through the deep red contents of his glass, finding it difficult to keep his mind on the conversation after his encounter with Miss Eugenia. The memory of her always lingered with him long after she did. Tonight, was it the bloodred color of his wine that triggered the memories? Was it frustration? Lust? Anger? Did it matter? From their first meeting in the park in early July to this very night, he could not shake the memory of her away. Waking, sleeping, in a crowded room or a solitary moment, the thought of her would rise in him like an unholy obsession, disquieting him, kindling a deep burn in his soul.

Her form, with its soft, lush curves, promised delight. Her hair, a deep brown, gleamed with multicolored strands of chocolate, chestnut, caramel and copper when the light touched it. Her eyes—a deep greenish-hazel reminiscent of summer forests—captivated him. Her mouth—ah, that mouth! Inviting, plump lips curved up at the corners as if a perpetual smile was lurking, waiting to bloom with the slightest provocation—and, by the heavens, how he wanted to provoke it. Kiss it. Explore the silken depths beyond those rosy petals. Lose himself in her.

But Miss Eugenia cared nothing for him. Or, at the very least, she was not comfortable in his presence. Worst of all was that she had singled him out for this dubious honor. Her manner with Drew and Charlie was quite cordial. Clearly it was James she disdained.

“So deep in thought, Jamie?”

He came back to the moment and looked at his older brother and Lord Marcus Wycliffe, his superior at the Home Office. “I’ve things aplenty to think about, not the least of which is why you sent for me tonight.”

Drew settled back in his chair, a bland expression on his face, a sure sign he expected trouble in one form or another. Jamie took his glass to the fireplace, stood with his elbow propped on the mantel and glanced toward his younger brother, Charles, who was prowling the room with restless energy. “I think Charlie and Wycliffe’s presence here gives you away. Something about the Brotherhood, is it not?”

The Blood Wyvern Brotherhood, they called themselves. As members of the ton, they had thought themselves above the laws of decency and God. Only a week or so had passed since the last attempt of the covert section of the Home Office had failed to round up the remaining members of the ritualistic cult. Well, partially failed. They’d brought in all but a few unimportant dabblers and the one man at the top—the most evil of them all—Cyril Henley.

Drew nodded his confirmation. “We wanted to wait until the women had retired for the evening.”

Jamie thought of Miss Eugenia, ready to flee with her embroidery in hand. But he would not expose her. If she could not sleep, at least they had that much in common.

“Wycliffe wants to send you both abroad,” Drew told him.

“Abroad? Me and Charlie?” Jamie turned to his superior. Why would Wycliffe send them away in the middle of an investigation?

“There has been no sign of the Brotherhood,” Wycliffe told them. “No whispers. No sightings. And no more women have gone missing. With his cohorts captured, the secretary suspects Henley has left the country. Or perhaps someone else has disposed of him for us.”

In Jamie’s experience, which was prodigious, the Home Office wouldn’t be that lucky. Men like Cyril Henley were like cockroaches. They survived all attempts to eradicate them, then came back to infest the world with their own sort of filth.

Wycliffe interpreted Jamie’s silence for skepticism and nodded. “I doubt it, too, Hunter. But the secretary is convinced he has left England. Gone to France, Germany, Italy or perhaps even the Americas. He is bound to find followers and victims enough wherever he goes, as long as he does not make the mistake of trifling with the ton again. But this mad dog is our responsibility.” Wycliffe paused to take another drink from his glass. “And that is why I recommended you to the Foreign Office.”

Jamie opened his mouth to speak, but Wycliffe held up one hand to halt him. “You want these curs caught as badly as I do, Jamie. You, Charlie and Andrew know more than anyone else about this case. Andrew is married and does not work for the Home Office. You and Charlie are all we have left of the men who have been on this case from the beginning. If Henley is gone and the Brotherhood crushed, who better to send after him?”

Charlie stopped his pacing. “Transfer to the Foreign Office? Now there’s an intriguing notion. Another day, I might be tempted by the proposition. But not at the moment. There are too many loose ends here. And I’ve fallen behind on my paperwork.”

Jamie almost laughed. When had Charlie ever cared about paperwork?

“What do you say, Jamie?” Wycliffe asked.

“I think it is highly unlikely that Henley has gone anywhere.” No, he would be thinking himself impervious to the Home Office. It was far more likely he was biding his time, waiting for the Home Office to put the case aside in favor of more urgent matters. He met Wycliffe’s dark gaze. “I think I’ll pass.”

Wycliffe sighed. “I believe the secretary is expecting your acceptance. He has made arrangements.”

“Tell him to arrange someone else.”

“I thought you wanted to advance.”

“Not at the expense of this case. Henley has not gone anywhere.” Jamie noted Drew’s distress and the look on Wycliffe’s face and realized there was more to this than they were telling. “Why are you so anxious to get us out of the country? “

Drew sighed and sat back in his chair. “There is a price on your head.”

“Henley?”

Wycliffe finished his brandy and stood. “Him, or any of the other cases you’ve brought to justice recently. I thought you’d be better off out of reach for a while. Take time to think about it, Jamie. Make yourself scarce. I will stall the secretary while you reconsider.”

Jamie was no coward, but the thought that someone wanted him dead badly enough to pay for it was sobering. Henley would be looking for any way to stop Jamie from coming after him. “Give me another week, Wycliffe. I’ll make my decision then.”

His superior nodded. “Take care in the meantime.”

Charlie gave a low whistle as they watched Wycliffe take his leave. “I wonder just how many people want you dead, Jamie,” he ventured.

Jamie chuckled. “I can envision a queue from parliament to St. Paul’s. But I have no intention of leaving the country. The bastard is here. In London. I feel it in my bones. Henley would never abandon his hunting grounds. I’d wager everything I own that someone is hiding him. His family, perhaps, or friends. Each time we get a lead, or think we’re closing in, he disappears in a puff of smoke.”

Drew looked doubtful. “How do you propose to find him?”

“Draw him out. There’s a bounty on my head? Good. I shall make myself visible. And when he comes after me …”

“Setting yourself up as a target is a rotten idea, Jamie. He won’t come for you himself. He’ll hire cutthroats. And I don’t want you dead.”

Charlie began to pace, his head down. “Can we talk you out of this?”

Jamie pointed to his ears. “Deaf.”

“Talk to Lockwood about this, Jamie. He still has connections at the Home and Foreign Offices, and he may have insights or be privy to information—”

Jamie took a deep breath. He did not want to involve their eldest brother, Lord Lockwood, in this quagmire. He had a wife and new child to think about, not to mention the duties attached to his title. “Not unless we are desperate. But this has to end now. Two months ago we thought it was over but they rose again. Last week we got the rest, but not Henley. I swear, the man is as slippery as an eel. As sure as I’m sitting here, Henley will find other hearts as dark as his own and rebuild his cult. He has a taste for killing now.” And pray God he did not come after Eugenia to finish the job.

Drew combed his fingers through his hair and sighed. “There is a bounty on your head. Go, Jamie. Transfer to the Foreign Office. Make it a holiday. Let someone else handle this.”

Jamie looked down into his glass again. Good sense and reason told him Drew was right. However. “I’ve been on this case from the beginning, Drew. I intend to see it through to the end.”

“‘Pears to me it’s more personal than that.”

Jamie tossed the remainder of his wine down and stood. Damn Drew’s perception! “I want that blasted scum dangling from a rope for what he’s done, and justice for—” he stopped himself from saying Eugenia and substituted “—for all their victims. And I bloody well want an end to all the secrets and lies.”

“It always comes down to that with you, does it not—needing to know every last detail, every last truth? Why, Jamie? What drives you to that?”

“Truth never fails. There is no argument against it. It is the only rampart that remains when all else is crumbling. Truth tames chaos. It is just, honest and right. You can stand by it unashamed, depend upon it. If I did not stand for truth, what else would matter?”

“I pity when you finally learn that some questions are better left unanswered, and that the truth does not always serve you best.” Andrew pushed his glass away and shook his head. “The world is not as black and white as you think, brother, and the truth is a double-edged sword. If you chase after it, be damned sure you are prepared to get cut.”

“Living with lies could never be better,” he said with unshakable certainty. “C’mon, Charlie. It appears I am going to need you to watch my back.”




Chapter Two


Gina had expected shock, perhaps even outraged protests, but not stunned silence. Apart from the heavy rain outside the windows and the decisive tick of the tall case clock on the wall opposite the fireplace, the library was silent. Not even the clink of a teacup being replaced in its saucer broke the spell.

She glanced around the circle at the faces of her friends. Her sister, Isabella, looked as if she were sitting atop a coiled spring, ready to catapult off the settee and restrain her. Lady Annica, a darkly beautiful woman, wore a puzzled frown; Lady Sarah’s expression was curious with a tinge of sympathy in her violet eyes—eyes so like her brother’s that it always caught Gina by surprise. Grace Hawthorne, whom she had just met today, was more difficult to read, but Gina thought there might be a small crack in her serene countenance.

Gina cleared her throat and prayed she could keep her voice steady. “I was given to believe this group might be of some help in the matter. If not, then I apologize for broaching the subject.”

A collective sigh was expelled and Isabella rose. “Gina! Are you mad?” She hurried to the library door, tested the lock, and returned to her chair.

“Nearly so,” Gina admitted. Indeed, there was very little difference between true madness and what she’d been feeling for the past two months. “But I have come to believe that finding Mr. Henley is the only way I can change that.”

“How do you propose to do that, dear?” Grace Hawthorne asked as she set her teacup down and smoothed her sky-blue skirts.

“I do not know how much you may have heard about my family’s recent problems, Mrs. Hawthorne, but they have been extraordinary. The dust has settled a bit, what with Isabella and Lilly marrying, but I am still …” Gina stopped to clear her throat again, which was frequently raw since Lord Daschel had nicked it with a knife. “Still at odds.”

Grace, who had been out of the country with her husband, gave a little smile of encouragement and Isabella hastened to finish Gina’s explanation. “Almost as soon as our family arrived in London in May, our oldest sister, Cora, was kidnapped and murdered. Gina and I undertook to find the killer when the authorities had given up. Cora lived long enough to tell us that her killer was a member of the ton. With that as our only clue, we sought out men who fit that description and who had an interest in…in dark rituals and self-indulgence. Gina came close enough to be kidnapped by Mr. Henley as the next ritual sacrifice. But there were complications.”

Gina looked down at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. “Most of the men were arrested, and Lord Daschel, the man who murdered Cora, was killed. Then a fortnight ago, all the others were found and arrested but for their leader, Cyril Henley. I have been feeling so…unsettled. So vulnerable. And worse—increasingly angry. When I leave the house, I cannot stop looking over my shoulder or settle the nausea in my stomach. I cannot bear the thought of going through the rest of my life like this. I must do something to bring an end to it. And I fear nothing will end it until the villain is caught.” Through the thoughtful silence that followed her declaration, Gina heard Lady Annica sigh.

“We understand more than you might think, Eugenia. You have come to the right place. The Wednesday League is prepared to assist women in your circumstances. We have certain resources and can work in ways that the Home Office cannot. But tell us, as precisely as possible, what you want to accomplish.”

“Immediately after that night, I recalled nothing. Within a few days, memories began to return, but some of it still eludes me. I doubt it will ever come back entirely, and perhaps that is a blessing. But I want…” She could not tell them that she wanted the answers to what had happened to her. That she wanted the truth—all of it—good or bad. They would tell her to leave well enough alone. But there was something else she wanted, too. “I want…justice.”

Lady Annica smiled. “We shall see that you get it, Eugenia, one way or another.”

“I must be a part of it,” Gina told them quickly. “I cannot sit idly by, waiting for someone else to free me from this poisonous feeling. Twice, the authorities have failed to capture him. How can you help me succeed when others have not?”

Lady Sarah stood and came to rest her hand on Gina’s shoulder. “Give us a chance, Gina. We’ve succeeded in equally difficult circumstances. And what would you do? Haunt the Whitechapel streets alone? Prowl the rookeries after dark? That would be far too dangerous. Of course you will be involved in every aspect of the investigation, but surely you see the sense in allowing someone else to go about in your place.”

“Please, Gina,” Bella entreated. “What if something happened to you, too? “

If something happened? A sharp pain pierced Gina’s brain. If? Oh, why couldn’t she remember? Small bits and pieces, fleeting fragments, were all she had. She took a deep breath and pushed the uncertainty of the past two months away. “I do not want to waste another moment feeling like this.”

“Give us a reasonable length of time, Gina,” Grace appealed. “If we are not successful within a month, we shall find some way to involve you further.”

That was more than Gina had expected, though not as much as she intended to take. No, she intended to confront those men, and she intended to have her answers. She took a deep breath and nodded. At least she would be moving forward.

Lady Annica stood. “Excellent! Shall we adjourn to La Meilleure Robe? I shall send ahead to Madame Marie requesting that she ask Mr. Renquist to be there.”

“We are going to a dressmaker?” Gina asked in disbelief.

Grace leaned over and patted her clenched hands. “Madame Marie’s husband is a Bow Street runner, dear. Quite the best of the lot. If he cannot help us, no one can.”

Madame Marie, the French émigré owner of La Meilleure Robe, had been known to turn down clients on a whim. One was considered very fortunate to have a gown fashioned by the modiste to the aristocracy. The O’Rourke girls had been privileged to have had a number of their gowns made by her when they’d first arrived in London—gowns that had been meant to launch them in society but remained unworn in their wardrobes.

Gina was treated to a vastly different experience on this visit. She and Bella were ushered into a comfortable back dressing room which almost resembled a parlor where the other ladies were waiting. There were side tables and comfortable chairs arranged in a semicircle facing a small dressmaker’s platform with mirrors behind.

When they were seated, Madame Marie entered from a side door and spread her arms wide. “La! ‘Ow long ‘as it been, ladies? Many months, yes? I pray you ‘ave not gotten into more trouble.”

Lady Annica removed her gloves and bonnet. “Not us, Madame. A friend of ours needs help.”

Marie’s glance skipped across the gathered faces—Lady Sarah, Grace Hawthorne, Charity MacGregor, Lady Annica, Bella and Gina, herself. Madame’s gaze settled on Gina, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Was it so obvious?

“François will be ‘ere in a moment. ‘E will want to ‘ave the story from the beginning, eh? Be comfortable, and I shall tell the girls to bring tea. We must chat afterwards, yes?” And with that, the handsome Frenchwoman disappeared through the side door again.

Gina sank into a chair beside Lady Sarah. She was having misgivings about recounting her story—or at least what she could remember of it—to a man. The tale was difficult enough to share with another woman.

Bella came to her and took her hand. “You are very brave to be doing this, Gina. Do not let that courage fail you now.”

Brave? Thank heavens they did not know the fear she lived with daily. The fear that Henley would come after her again. But she would conquer that fear for her rough justice. “Mama mustn’t suspect.”

Bella laughed. “Oh, you may be certain of that. I cannot even imagine what she might do—after she recovered from her swoon, of course.”

“You may trust us all,” Lady Sarah told her, slipping one arm around Bella’s waist as she leaned close. “Everything that transpires in this room is utterly confidential.”

Lady Sarah was the sister of Lord Lockwood, Andrew, James and Charles, and she was reassured to know that none of what was revealed here would be repeated to any of them. Relief brought a smile to her lips.

“Furthermore,” Lady Sarah continued, “since you have said that you wish to be involved, you will have to enter society, Gina. It is the only way to gain access to the information we seek. We shall arrange for you to attend all the best functions, the more extravagant balls and crushes, and whatever other events that seem appropriate.”

“Oh, I …”

“You met the Thayer twins at my oldest brother’s house before…well, before. They have just arrived back in town after their summer holiday. Hortense and Harriet are quite lively and they know simply everyone and everything that goes on. In their company, you would have entrée to anywhere you wish to go.”

Gina also recalled that the Thayer twins were singularly beautiful with their combination of copper hair and startling green eyes. But were they discreet?

The thought of entering society left her short of breath, but she had no time to protest when the side door opened and a maid carrying a tea tray entered, followed by a pleasant-looking man of average height. This would be Francis Renquist, Madame Marie’s husband. His hair was sandy brown and his blue eyes had crinkle lines at the corners. Instinctively, Gina knew she could trust him.

“Ladies,” he greeted them with a small bow, and when he straightened he rubbed his hands together. “I understand you have something for me?”

The maid left the tray on a side table and closed the door behind her, after which Lady Annica spoke. “We need to find some men, Mr. Renquist. Some particularly elusive men.”

His bushy eyebrows rose. “What have they done, my lady?”

“Have you heard of the Blood Wyvern Brotherhood, sir?”

The color drained from his face. “How are you involved with these men?”

“We are not involved,” Lady Sarah soothed. “Nor do we wish to be. We merely wish to locate the last of them, after which we shall inform the authorities where to find him.”

“Even so …”

Lady Annica busied herself pouring out cups of tea and bringing them to the ladies, speaking as she did so. “Miss O’Rourke—” she indicated Gina with an inclination of her head “—and her sister, Mrs. Hunter, had some dealings with them a few months back. They are aware of the dangers and do not intend to encounter or confront the man involved. They simply have an interest in seeing that the perpetrators are safely locked away.”

Gina blinked and squelched a pang of guilt. She fully intended to confront Mr. Henley. How else would she get her answers? But she feared the ladies would withdraw their support if she told them as much.

Mr. Renquist looked doubtful. “What, exactly, do you hope to accomplish?”

“Location, Mr. Renquist. That is all that we shall require of you,” Grace Hawthorne said. “We do not want you to apprehend him or even speak to him. Just find him.”

“As you are aware, these matters are rarely so simple.”

“This will be, Mr. Renquist,” Lady Sarah assured him.

“The Home Office is expending every resource at their disposal to bring this man to justice. Why must you risk involving yourselves—”

Lady Annica lowered her voice. “It is a personal matter,” she said with a note of finality.

Mr. Renquist turned to look at Gina for one long moment. She held her breath, seeing that he wanted to refuse and was measuring her resolve. He must have read the determination in her heart because he let out a long sigh and nodded. “I will look into it, ladies, but I cannot make any promises. I will meet you here to report my findings twice a week unless there is need for more urgency. If you will let my wife know the days and times most convenient for you, I shall arrange to be here.”

“Excellent!” Lady Sarah smiled and touched Mr. Renquist’s arm as he turned to go. “Would you please send Madame Marie to us? Miss O’Rourke will need to commission a gown to account for her frequent visits here.”

A moment later, Madame Marie appeared in the doorway, one finger tapping her cheek thoughtfully as she studied Gina’s form. “Hmm. Something low and provocative, eh? Guaranteed to bring a man to ‘is knees, yes? They will be so distracted that when you ask the questions, chéri, they will be compelled to give you the truth.”

Gina suspected she would wear sackcloth if it would get to the truth.

By the time she and Bella arrived home, Gina barely had time to freshen up for afternoon tea. She hurried down the stairs on her way to the parlor, but the sound of muffled voices from the library stopped her. Brotherhood, she heard, and Henley. Not given to eavesdropping, she nevertheless hesitated outside the door. The sound of Andrew’s voice, and those of James and Charles, was more than she could resist. Was this the business that closeted the brothers together in the library so often? Her business?

“But the leads are drying up,” Charles’s voice carried to her.

“… looking in the wrong places,” Andrew replied.

“Where would you look?” James asked. “Parlors and sitting rooms?”

A laugh, cut off in the middle, answered that question. “Go back to the hells and Whitefriar taverns. Farrell will help. He’s family now.”

Gina shivered. Her sister Lilly’s new husband was a bit frightening to everyone but Lilly. Even though he was family now, she suspected it would not be a good thing to be in Devlin Farrell’s debt. But James’s next words disavowed her of that notion.

“He has offered to help, and I will likely find a use for his particular talents. With him covering that end of the inquiries, Charlie and I will look to other avenues. But, as Charlie said, the leads are drying up.”

“I can see you have your own suspicions,” Andrew said.

There was a long pause before James spoke again, almost as if he were weighing his words carefully. “The one source we haven’t explored in depth is his family and close acquaintances. They’ve been reluctant to speak with us and have denied any knowledge of the affair. But, damn it all, Drew, they’ve got to be involved in some way. Henley is canny enough, but he could not elude us so nimbly without help from someone in society, and who more likely to help him than his family or friends? God knows, his family would want to keep the secret of his involvement as long as possible. Their own reputations are at stake. And a man like Henley would not hesitate to prevail upon friends.”

Gina frowned. If Henley’s family was wary of James and the Home Office, she wondered if Mr. Renquist would be able to get past their defenses. Oh! She recalled there had been a woman at one of the two tableaus to which Cyril Henley had taken her before that last fateful night who had been almost as horrified as she. The woman had been familiar with everyone there, but her sensibilities had been more kindred to Gina’s. Both had blushed and studied the floor when one tableau featured a nude woman reclining on a backless couch with nothing but a light shawl draped across one hip and her nether regions. Was that woman Henley’s family? Or a friend? Could she know Henley’s whereabouts? Or was she somehow connected with one of the other men?

Oh, if only she could remember the woman’s name!

The rattle of teacups and saucers warned Gina that someone was bringing the tea service, and she dashed toward the sitting room. It would never do to be caught lurking outside the library door.

Bella looked up from her reading and patted the settee beside her when Gina rushed in. “Mama took Nancy and went shopping. Come sit, Gina. We rarely have time alone together these days.”

Gina retrieved her embroidery from a side table and sat beside her sister. “We shall have to hoard all the moments we can.”

“I know. Mama has been sighing and fretting over letters from her friends until just recently. I worried that she might want to go home, but it seems she is over the worst of her homesickness.”

“I pray we will find a place of our own nearby. I would adore to be close to you and Lilly.”

“Even when Mama finally goes back to Ireland, you should stay with me. Or Lilly. There is a dearth of eligible men in Belfast.”

Gina poked the needle through the fine linen. “You know how it will be, Bella. The die is cast. Cora is gone. You and Lilly are wed. I am the last of us, so it falls to me to become Mama’s companion in her old age.”

Bella put her book aside and studied Gina’s face. “I always thought we would all marry and shuttle Mama between us. In another few years, she will not want to live alone, and between us all, we could take turns.”

“Heaven forbid!” Gina managed a laugh. “Would Andrew have married you, or would Mr. Farrell have married Lilly, if they had known Mama came in the bargain?”

“Andrew has managed quite well,” Bella chuckled. “He did not think you and Mama should be without protection. And I am certain Lilly’s husband feels the same.”

Gina bit her tongue to keep from reminding Bella that her husband, and Lilly’s, were the sort they’d needed protection from. Instead, she shrugged and guided the needle and silk floss through the linen again.

The sitting room door opened and Edwards brought in the tea service, followed by Andrew and his brothers. She and Bella stood to greet them.

“May we join you? Seems like forever since we’ve done anything quite so domestic as having tea with the ladies.”

“Please,” Bella said, her gaze holding her husband’s and a soft color suffusing her cheeks. The room had shrunk to the two of them.

Was that what love looked like? Gina looked away, feeling as if she were intruding and she noted that James, too, was watching them. His gaze shifted to her and she blinked. He gave her a lopsided grin, as if they shared some secret that had eluded the others. She returned his smile, feeling schoolgirl shy.

“I hope you do not mind our interruption, ladies,” Charles said. “We ran into Edwards in the corridor and he advised that it was just the two of you.”

“Not at all,” Bella said. She gestured at a console table that held several carafes and glasses. “May I offer you stronger refreshment?”

Charles grinned and went to the table. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Gina sank back to the settee. She wondered if her guilt at eavesdropping could be read on her face. She retrieved her needlework and rested it on her lap in a pretended study of her work while Bella took charge of the teapot.

“Where is the lovely Mrs. O’Rourke?” James asked as he took a teacup from Bella.

“She is out shopping,” Bella said. “I think she is up to something. She’s been quite giddy the past few days.”

Andrew raised one eyebrow and Gina stifled a giggle. Bella was right—he’d been very good-natured about the O’Rourke invasion, and he was, no doubt, trying to imagine Mama giddy. Shrill, perhaps, feigning helplessness or demanding. But giddy?

The conversation floated around her and she felt herself withdrawing again, as she had so often since that night. Though her eyes remained on her needlework, her right hand went to the scar near the hollow of her throat as she thought of how James had bandaged the gash. He had seen her at her worst. Had he not, perhaps she wouldn’t mind being around him quite so much.

Bella’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Gina!”

She started and glanced up again, the question in her eyes.

“James asked if you are well,” Bella told her.

When she realized she was trying to cover the fading scar, she dropped her hand quickly and nodded. She met his gaze and swallowed hard. Remembering his offer of a truce, she gave him a weak smile. “Quite well, thank you.”

The stiff set of his shoulders relaxed slightly. “Good,” he murmured, as if he had expected her to give a different answer.

An awkward silence stretched out as Bella and Charles glanced between them. Was her discomfort so terribly obvious?

She was relieved when everyone turned toward the sitting room door at a clatter in the foyer accompanied by raised feminine voices. A moment later, Mama burst through the sitting room door with nary an acknowledgement, apology or explanation.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, removing her straw bonnet edged in black silk ribbon and fanning herself with the brim. “Public coachmen are so rude! Why, this one did not even want to help me with my packages! Nancy and I had to fetch them all.”

Gina tried to imagine their poor maid, now carrying the entire lot up the stairs to Mama’s room. “What did you purchase, Mama?”

“Quite a few things, dear. Several bolts of cloth, for when I am out of mourning—” she gestured at her black bombazine gown “—and some very nice Belgian lace, trims and notions. Then I went to Fortnum and Mason to purchase tins of dried fruits, exotic teas and preserves.”

Bella frowned. “I am certain Cook has enough—”

“They are not for cook, silly girl.” Mama sighed as she sank into a comfortable chair. “They are for us to take home. So difficult to find the finer things in Belfast, you know. Why, Belgian lace costs twice as much in the shops there! I confess, I delight in knowing I shall be the envy of all my friends.”

Gina smiled. These were the sure signs that Mama was beginning to heal from Cora’s death. “Surely there will be time enough to find everything you want.”

“Time enough? Why, there’s scarcely any time left at all! We shall be returning to Ireland within the fortnight.”

Gina could only stare at her mother in disbelief. She’d said nothing about returning to Ireland so soon! Not even a hint!

Bella intervened. “I thought you’d stay longer. With Lilly just wed, she may need you.”

Mama gave her a jaded look. “I believe the Farrells have no need for me at all. Mr. Farrell seems to have Lilly well in hand.” She turned to spare Andrew a glimpse. “As does Mr. Hunter seem to suit you well. No, you and Lilly have no need of me. Eugenia and I shall leave within a fortnight.”

Fortnight? She could not possibly be ready so soon! Mr. Renquist had indicated it could take months to find Mr. Henley. She stood in her agitation, acutely aware that James Hunter was watching her with marked curiosity. “Could we not stay until Christmas?”

“Christmas? Good heavens, Eugenia!” Mama put her hat aside and accepted a teacup from Bella. “Why, we cannot leave our house in Belfast unattended so long. Was it not always our intent to give you girls a season and leave for home afterward? You will recall I originally let the house in St. James until September. Just because we removed here and have been in mourning does not mean I changed our plans.”

“Mrs. O’Rourke, you are welcome here as long as you wish to stay,” Andrew told her. Gina wondered how much that offer had cost him.

“Kind of you, I am sure,” Mama said. “But I’ve already made arrangements. I decided that traveling overland is far too tedious and booked our berths yesterday, and today I ordered crates to be delivered for our goods.” She spread her arms wide as if she dared anyone to argue. “‘Tis a fait accompli.”

“Excuse me.” Gina prayed she could keep her composure until she exited the sitting room.




Chapter Three


Gina breathed deeply of the fresh air, her mind whirling with the news. So this is what Mama had been “giddy” about—the prospect of returning to Ireland! She needed to think. To plan. This new development changed everything.

If she was to have any chance of learning what happened in those lost hours, of finally being free of the past, she would have to act quickly. Indeed, she would not be able to wait for Mr. Renquist to make progress. As much as she dreaded mixing in society, she would have to enter the search herself, just as Lady Sarah had suggested.

She found a quiet spot in the garden and sat on a bench balanced between two stone lions. The late afternoon breeze made her shiver, a reminder of oncoming autumn, and she hugged herself as she focused on the toes of her slippers, trying to unravel the problem at hand.

Lady Sarah had already made arrangements to call for her tomorrow evening and accompany her to the Auberville Ball. The Thayer twins would be in attendance and, if all went well, Lady Sarah would arrange for more invitations, and Gina would join their circle.

She would not ask Mr. Renquist to investigate what she’d overheard in the library. She’d leave him to his sources and she would seek out Mr. Henley’s family and friends in society. The only thing she could not do was return to Belfast with this matter unresolved. To never know the truth. Never feel safe again so long as Mr. Henley roamed the earth.

The toes of two highly polished Wellingtons appeared before her. “Chilly, Miss O’Rourke?”

She looked up to find James Hunter standing before her. The familiar uneasy heat rose in her but she controlled it with a deep breath before she spoke. “A bit, Mr. Hunter. I should not have come out without my shawl.”

“Shall I fetch it?”

She shook her head. She did not intend to stay a moment longer than necessary.

He sat beside her, close enough for her to feel his heat, but not close enough to touch. “I gather your mother’s announcement was a surprise to you?”

“Completely. I had no idea she wanted to leave so soon.”

“And you do not? “

“Yes. No! I mean, I want to go home, but this is so sudden, and there were things that I still wanted to do.”

“Things, Miss O’Rourke? For instance?”

“I…I have not been much out in society due to…well, circumstances. I would like to experience a bit of the excitement of London.”

He gave a chortle that made her shiver. “I would think you’d have had enough excitement to last for one season.”

She looked sideways at him. There was nothing sarcastic in his countenance, and nothing chiding. Just a simple statement of fact. “A different sort of excitement than being abducted, Mr. Hunter.”

His eyes caught hers and held them. “I understand. I shall be sorry to see you go. I would have liked to waltz just once with you. Have you been to Vauxhall, or the museums?”

She shook her head. “Cora was killed not long after we arrived. And everything since then has conspired to keep us otherwise occupied.”

He laughed outright this time. “That would be a bit of an understatement, Miss O’Rourke. Your family has been the talk of the town. I must say, the O’Rourkes have collided with London in a most forceful manner.”

“And yet your sister has offered to sponsor me. At great risk to her reputation, I surmise.”

“Has she?” He looked surprised, and Gina realized he was thinking such a sponsorship was risky. “Well, Sarah knows best. She is an excellent judge of character. With her as your sponsor, your success is assured.”

She didn’t care a whit for social success. She only wanted to meet the people who could lead her to Mr. Henley, but given the conversation she’d overheard earlier in the library, she imagined all the brothers would forbid such a thing. Thank heavens they would be too busy with their own business to meddle in hers.

She shivered again and Mr. Hunter shrugged out of his jacket to drape it over her shoulders. Still warm from his body, it smelled of lime shaving soap and something clean. Starch? Very comforting, yet provocative. And once again, it conjured memories of that night. “Thank you,” she managed, suspecting she should have refused and gone inside.

“My pleasure, Miss O’Rourke.” He stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. “One never knows how to dress for the weather this time of year.”

“Is…is there a reason you followed me, Mr. Hunter?”

“I wanted to thank you for not running the moment you saw me, as is your custom. Indeed, I think our truce will work admirably well.”

“My dislike of you has been nothing personal, Mr. Hunter.”

“You dislike me? “

Mortified by her gaucherie, Gina winced. “Oh, forgive me. I did not mean that the way it sounded. What I meant to say is that you make me uncomfortable…I mean—”

“Please do not explain further, Miss O’Rourke. I do not think my tender ego is up to it.” He grinned and her stomach did an odd little flip-flop.

The sound of laughter preceded the arrival of others, and Gina slipped James’s jacket off her shoulders and shivered in the sudden chill. She gave it back and watched as he stood and shrugged it on moments before Bella and Charles appeared around the hedge. Why did she feel as if they had done something wrong?

Charles bowed to Gina before he turned to his brother. “Here you are, Jamie. We’re late for our appointment, and we ought to leave these good people to their evening.”

Bella shook her head in feigned disbelief. “I tried to persuade him that they were welcome to stay for dinner, but Charles would not hear of it.”

“Quite right. We are expected elsewhere,” James confirmed as he stepped away from the bench.

The men bowed, but before they departed, James looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes before he turned and disappeared along the garden path. A vague feeling of disappointment filled Gina at their departure.

Bella led her through the library doors and went to the console table to pour sherry into a glass and bring it to her. “I had no idea!”

Gina accepted the glass and took a healthy gulp. “Of what?”

“That you were in love with James.”

She choked, the sherry burning her throat. Love? Oh, to the contrary. She could barely endure his company. “You are mistaken, Bella. I am not in love with Mr. Hunter. If I am awkward in his presence, it is because I do not like to keep his company. He…he…saw me.” Indeed, he was a reminder of all she had endured. Of all she had lost. And that was what she’d been at a loss to explain to him mere moments ago.

Bella gave her a wise older-sister smile. “Perhaps that is why he is so drawn to you. ‘Tis almost painful to watch him when you are in the same room. He cannot tear his eyes from you.”

“Because he imagines me naked! It…it is lasciviousness, Bella, and nothing more.”

“Truly?” But Bella looked doubtful. “He looked genuinely distraught when Mama announced she was taking you home to Ireland.”

Because he would have liked to waltz with her? She caught her breath at the sudden pain in her chest at the realization that, had things been different, had that night never occurred, she would have liked to waltz with him, too.

That night at the Crown and Bear tavern, Jamie Hunter rolled his eyes in disgust. “Good Lord, Charlie, you haven’t had that much to drink. Focus, man!”

Charlie grinned, a canny look on his face. “I’m not far gone, Jamie. I’m thinking of something else.”

“Someone else, more likely. Who is it this time?”

“The sweet little thing you just cast off. Suzette.”

“That was two months ago.” Jamie leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “But Suzette can make the blood boil, can she not? Alas, what will she do when you move on to another demirep? She’s damned near made a career of the Hunter brothers. You’re the lone holdout, Charlie.”

“Well, I am not holding out any longer. Suzette was saving the best for last. She is fond of the tall, dark and handsome sort.” He waggled his eyebrows at Jamie and chuckled. “I’ve seen the congé she has acquired from Lockwood, Drew and you. I’d be willing to wager she could retire if she sold those jewels.”

“Why would she retire when she has yet another Hunter brother to fleece? “

“I daresay you all got your money’s worth. I know I shall.”

Jamie shrugged. He couldn’t say why he’d tired of Suzette Lamont, only that he had. Though, when he thought about it, he’d reached that decision very soon after his family had become involved with the O’Rourkes.

He suppressed a shiver and came back to the conversation. “Just be a gentleman when you leave, Charlie. Suzette deserves that much.”

“Aye, she was so devastated when you left that she took up with a German not a week later. Ah, but she’s done with him now, and ‘tis my turn.”

“Made a pauper of him, more likely. Watch your purse strings, brother.”

“Jealous?”

Was he? Perhaps just a touch. Suzette was skilled and had taught him much about pleasing a woman. And he was beginning to feel the effects of prolonged celibacy. The fleeting thought that perhaps he needed a woman to take the edge off his lust for Eugenia made him shake his head in disgust. He downed his whiskey in a single gulp.

This eschewing of mistresses was what came of being around his older brothers. They’d become domesticated so quickly that he could scarce believe it. Lockwood had taken to marriage like a duck to water. Andrew, a libertine to rival the worst, was now a happy house cat, curling by his fire with his favorite new toy—Bella.

Ah, yes, and here came the latest in a long line of newly domesticated tomcats. Devlin Farrell. A man whose slightest twitch had roused terror in seasoned criminals was now a well-contented newlywed who literally worshipped his wife.

“Gents,” he greeted them. “I see you started without me.”

Charlie laughed. “I have no doubt you’ll catch up, Farrell.”

Devlin signaled the barkeeper and a tankard of ale magically appeared. “I have no intention of catching up. Lilly is waiting at home. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

Jamie snorted. He very much doubted Lilly would be disappointed tonight, or any other night if he was any judge at all. If there was no saint like a reformed sinner, Devlin Farrell would soon have his own niche at St. Paul’s.

After a long drink, Devlin answered their unasked question. “No sign of them, but I’ve confirmed they are still in the vicinity. Tell the secretary his information is wrong.”

“We suspected as much.” Charlie sat a bit straighter, as if he had suddenly shaken off the effects of the whiskey. “And is there, indeed, a price on Jamie’s head?”

“A rather large one.”

Jamie grinned. “How much am I worth?”

“Ten thousand pounds.”

Charlie whistled and rolled his eyes. “There should be at least a dozen takers at that price.”

“At least,” Devlin agreed. “But common cutthroats do not have the finesse to take our Jamie by surprise.”

Ten thousand pounds was, nevertheless, a daunting sum. Jamie shifted uneasily in his chair, taking the threat seriously for the first time. Who would come after him first? He held Devlin’s gaze. “Will it be the Gibbons brothers?”

The corners of Devlin’s mouth quirked. “They’re mean as snakes and will turn on you in a trice, but blast if they aren’t sometimes useful. They’ll do anything for money, though I don’t know what they do with it once it’s in their hands.”

“Wish they’d get a bath,” Charlie muttered. “Or buy some manners.”

“It’s a mystery.” Devlin shrugged. “They live in a hovel, never invest in a bar of soap, pick their clothes out of rag piles, eat garbage and even share their whores so they only have to pay for one. They must have a fortune amassed somewhere.”

“Two more pathetic creatures I’ve never seen.”

“Oh, I don’t know….” Devlin’s right eyebrow shot up as he glanced between Jamie and Charlie.

Jamie and Charlie burst out laughing and toasted each other as if to confirm Devlin’s analysis.

Devlin sat back in his chair and his expression sobered. “In view of the risk to you, Jamie, I’d like you to accept a bodyguard or two. I know just the men, and—”

“They’d get in the way. Make me conspicuous. And do not think to set them on me without my knowledge. I’d mistake them for bounty hunters and have to kill them.”

Devlin did not look happy. “I might have a lead for you. If you handle it with your usual skill, you could end this thing quickly.”

Jamie sat forward and lowered his voice. “What do you have up your sleeve, Devlin? “

“That night, at the ritual, when the charleys arrived and the brotherhood scattered down the tunnels, I recognized a few men. Some, you already know about. But I haven’t mentioned that I saw Stanley Metcalfe and Adam Booth. They looked confused and frightened and, unless I miss my guess, that was their first time at a ritual, and is the reason I did not pursue them. They’ve kept their noses clean since, though.”

How like Devlin to keep that information to himself until it was needed. Until Metcalfe or Booth could prove useful. “And?”

“As the last men on the periphery of the brotherhood still free, they might be useful to you. Might have some information. One of them could be in touch with Henley. They might know his family and have knowledge of…Well, you can imagine how helpful they might be.”

If they could be trusted. And if they were still alive.

Jamie dropped some coins on the table and stood. “Get home to Lilly. And thanks for the tip. I’ll be looking for them tomorrow.”

Massive crystal chandeliers glittered multicolored shards of light across the room, laughter was shrill and the wine was free-flowing. The evening promised to be a huge success. Alas, Lord Auberville hadn’t been able to tell him who, precisely, had been invited to the ball, so Jamie concluded he’d just have to see for himself. Charlie left him at the door to find the card room and a game of whist, leaving Jamie free to wander the perimeter of the dance floor. With a nod here and a smile there, he acknowledged a few friends and acquaintances, but nary a sign of Stanley Metcalfe or Adam Booth. Had someone tipped them off?

He was thinking he’d take any Metcalfe at this point, and there, in answer to his prayer, was Stanley Metcalfe’s sister, Missy. Dressed in deceptive white, she was holding court in a circle of men. He wondered if she realized her popularity was attributable to the poorly kept secret that she granted certain…liberties, if one could get her alone in a garden.

He advanced on the group, knowing that most of the men would depart when the music stopped. The rest…well, he would just have to be quicker. He greeted the men, took Missy’s hand and bowed over it.

“Miss Metcalfe, you are looking especially lovely tonight.”

She twinkled at him and giggled. “How kind of you to say, Mr. Hunter.”

“Just giving you your due, Miss Metcalfe.”

The orchestra finished the set and one young man stepped forward. “I say, Miss Metcalfe, would you do me the honor—”

Jamie smiled apologetically at the young man. “Taken. I shall return her to you directly after.” He took Missy’s hand and led her away as she muffled yet another giggle.

“How naughty of you, Mr. Hunter,” she said as the next dance, a sedate reel, began. “I have no recollection of granting you a dance.”

“Then I must thank you for not giving me away.” There would be an unavoidable risk in carrying on their conversation as they met between steps, so he led her into the dance, waited until they met for a turn, and then tugged her toward the terrace doors.

“Oh!” She pressed one dainty hand against her chest when they were outside and the terrace door closed behind them. Her eyes widened in feigned innocence. “We really shouldn’t …”

He really wouldn’t. But Missy needn’t know that. “You break a man’s heart, my dear.”

She gave him a pretty pout. “What else am I to do? You dance with a girl now and then, and ignore her the rest of the time. Is that fair?”

“Fair? Oh, my dear, more fair than you can know. If I were to subject myself to your charms too often, why there is no telling what I might do. Perhaps I ought to take my pleas to your brother.”

“No need for that, Mr. Hunter. He would likely just refuse you.”

“Or he could give me his blessing to call upon you. Is he here?”

“No. He…he is keeping to himself these days.”

“Do you know where I might find him? His club, perhaps?”

“You’d do better to petition my father, sir, but he is ill at the moment, and not receiving.”

How coincidental that all the males in her family were currently unavailable. And suspicious. Something was being covered up, of that he was sure. “Is there no recourse for me at all?”

She moved closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest, and looked up at him with a sloe-eyed heat. “You could take what you want. I like men who take what they want.”

He groaned. What was the harm in taking what was freely offered? He spanned her waist with his hands and held her still as he tilted his head down to hers. “You are too tempting, Miss Metcalfe,” he said against her lips. When he deepened the contact and she moaned, he waited for the excitement, the rush of pleasure and anticipation. In vain. All he could think was that the rosewater she had splashed on was rather overpowering, and not at all like the stirring scent of Miss O’Rourke’s skin.

Fortunately, he already had what he needed from Missy—she did not know where her brother was. And she was not what he wanted.

He stepped back from her. “We must get you back inside before anyone notices you’re gone. I would dislike people talking about you.”

She stamped her foot in frustration and was about to protest when the terrace doors opened and her erstwhile swain appeared. Thank God they’d broken contact or Jamie suspected he’d be fighting a duel at dawn.

“Miss Metcalfe became overheated,” he explained. “Do keep her company whilst she cools down.”

He edged past the young man and into the ballroom. When he glanced back, Missy Metcalfe was watching him with consternation. He gave her a wink, thinking she could prove useful in the future.

Inside, he scanned the room before leaving, but stopped dead when he met deep hazel eyes at a distance. Could it be? Yes. Miss O’Rourke was standing between Hortense and Harriett Thayer, looking a bit bemused as one of the twins—he could not tell them apart—told a story. Eugenia was dressed in a pink confection that complemented her complexion perfectly. Her lustrous golden-brown hair was done up in a perfect cluster from which ringlets fell to dance below her shoulders. He tried to imagine how those ringlets would feel tangled between his fingers.

What the bloody hell was Miss O’Rourke doing here? Did she not realize she was at risk for as long as a single member of the brotherhood was on the loose? She was one of the few people left alive who could recognize them.

The sound of conversation was nearly deafening but Gina could barely hear it over the thundering of her own heartbeat. Even supported by the Thayer twins, she wondered what had ever made her think she was prepared for this.

Standing in the ballroom, she could not banish the thought that one of the men present may have been at the chapel that night. Someone who might have been a part of her abduction, had hoped to be a part of her ultimate shame and death.

She shuddered and forced the thoughts from her mind. She had known entering society would not be easy. She could not let that stop her. She was running out of time if she meant to have her justice.

Just as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, her fears materialized. She glimpsed James Hunter in a group of revelers. James, who had been there. Who had seen her as nature had made her. But he, at least, had not meant her ill.

“Oh, look! There’s Missy Metcalfe.” Hortense nudged Gina in the ribs as she leaned closer to her ear. “Quite the little flirt, that one.”

Gina shook off her vague misgiving and chuckled as she thought of the pot and the kettle. Missy Metcalfe, whoever she was, would surely fall far short of Hortense’s skills.

Harriett, though, was a bit more sedate. Only a bit. “She prefers the company of men, Hortense. That does not make her a flirt.”

“No, Harri. It makes her a—”

“Hush! Do you want someone to hear?” Harriett pasted a smile on her pretty face and waved to the young lady in question.

“She is quite lovely,” Gina allowed.

Hortense turned and swept Gina’s form head to toe in an assessing gaze. “You needn’t worry, Eugenia. She cannot hold a candle to you.”

“Oh, but she is fair and lively while I am—”

“Dark and mysterious,” Harriett finished. “I can well picture young men hanging on your every word. And that gown! Pink becomes you. You must make it your signature color.”

Gina smoothed the pale pink watered silk over her hips. The gown had been made for her not long after her arrival in London, and she had lost weight since then. It did not hang on her, but it gapped slightly at the scooped décolletage and Nancy had pinned a posy of violets there to fill the gap and save her modesty.

Hortense pinched her arm. “Upon my word! There is Mr. Hunter heading our way. Mr. James Hunter. Are you not somehow related, Eugenia?”

“His brother is married to my sister,” she confessed, searching the crowd for a sign of him as she experienced a pang of panic.

“How divine,” Hortense declared with a wink. “What I wouldn’t give to have such a man going in and out of my house. Do you often manage to encounter him?”

“Rarely.” As rarely as she could manage.

“Pity,” Harriett ventured. “He has a reputation to be envied amongst the ladies of the ton. There is scarce one who has not contrived to elicit a walk in the gardens with him.”

“Why?” she asked.

The twins giggled and Hortense answered. “You cannot have missed how handsome he is. Oh, those eyes make my knees weak! And I have heard it whispered—no, I will not tell you by whom—that he kisses like a fallen angel. Heavenly and naughty at the same time. How I would love to know how that feels.”

Gina closed her eyes, remembering how she had felt when he had carried her from the altar. Comforted. Safe. Mortified. But what would it have been like to let him kiss her?

She raised her hand to her throat where her scar was hidden beneath a wide pink ribbon to which a cameo had been fastened. Heat flowed through her, warming her blood and firing her imagination.

“Ah, well,” Harriett continued, “I would make the most of your connection. If you are seen on his arm, your reputation as a ‘desirable’ is made.”

Gina shook her head, not wanting to disappoint the twins. “Mr. Hunter has far more important things to do than ‘make’ my reputation.” Her stomach fluttered when a crooked smile quirked his mouth as he met her eyes.

He arrived before them, bowed to Hortense and Harriett, then turned his attention to her as the music began. “Our first waltz, Miss O’Rourke,” he murmured in a deep, intimate voice as he took her hand.

She was amazed that her knees did not give out as he led her onto the dance floor.




Chapter Four


She detected an angry undercurrent in the way James Hunter took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. Was it not she who should be indignant at the way he’d claimed her and given her no room to demur? With the slightest tug, he spun her around and pulled her against his chest just as the music began.

“Fancy meeting you here, Miss O’Rourke,” he said as he led her into the first steps of the waltz.

Gina raised her eyebrows at his clipped tone. “I do not recall consenting to a dance, Mr. Hunter.”

He looked at her through those violet-blue eyes, rather wintery now instead of holding their usual warmth. His entire demeanor had changed since leading her away from the twins. “I wasn’t actually asking.”

Disappointment washed through her. She had wondered, if they waltzed, how it would feel to be in his arms, but not like this. Now she only wanted to escape. What had she done to provoke him? As she moved to draw away, his hand tightened at her waist.

“Careful, Miss O’Rourke, or everyone will know our business.”

She fought to keep her face impassive and her manner as cold as his, but his demeanor bothered her more than she dared let him know. “We have business? If so, I am unaware of it, sir. Indeed, I thought we had called a truce.”

“We have. Correct me if I am wrong, but I do not recall recklessness being a part of it.”

She collected her wits as he swung her in a wide circle. “I…reckless? I haven’t the faintest notion what you mean.”

“Have you not?” Their progress around the dance floor had brought them close to an open terrace door and he waltzed her outside without missing a step. “Then allow me to enlighten you.”

He stopped suddenly and released her in the dim glow of a hanging lantern, leaving her to catch her own balance. She had never seen him like this before—angry and challenging—and she did not like it. She lifted her chin and glared at him, daring him to berate her for anything.

But that did not stop him. “There are people around who…who could wish you harm. And here you are, flaunting yourself for all the world to see. Are you daring Henley to come after you, Miss O’Rourke?”

She blinked. He was right, of course, but she could hardly tell him that finding Henley had, in fact, been her goal. In his present mood, he was likely to throw her over his shoulder and carry her home. She lifted her chin a bit higher. “I fail to see how that is any concern of yours, Mr. Hunter.”

The expression on his face was stiff and brittle, as if it might crack at any moment and reveal his true feelings. “You don’t? Then allow me to count the ways. One—” he held up one finger “—you are my brother’s sister-in-law. Two—” another finger went up “—I have already pulled you from Henley’s reach once. Three, I am currently working to see that Henley is punished, and four…” His voice trailed off, as if he had thought better of continuing.

“Four?” she challenged.

He laughed, but there was not the slightest hint of humor in it. “You would not want to hear that one, Miss O’Rourke, believe me. Shall we say that my reasons are legion, and that your presence is a distraction and a deterrent?”

What could be so dreadful she could not hear it? She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, regaining a small measure of composure. “Very well. But your reasons are not my concern. I am tired of being a prisoner in my home. I am tired of being punished for something that is not my fault. I have had enough of allowing fear to dictate my life. No more, Mr. Hunter. Do you hear me? No more.”

He gripped her upper arms and leaned toward her. His scent weakened her knees and for a moment the possibility of a kiss hovered in the air between them. She was breathless, torn by hope and fear. Then, in a very low voice, he said, “I hear you clearly, Miss O’Rourke, and as much as I admire your courage and determination, I abhor your foolhardiness in taunting a dangerous man.”

She finally inhaled, trying to find her voice. How could she tell him that she had doubts, too. At least a dozen times a day, and twice already tonight. “Nevertheless.”

He looked completely flummoxed by her refusal to see the matter his way. And her promise of utter confidentiality prevented her from mentioning that she had gained courage and support from his own sister and several of the most important ladies in the ton, so she merely held her ground.

He released her and stepped back. “Very well, Miss O’Rourke. Have it your way, then. But you cannot stop me from shadowing your footsteps.”

“You shall soon become very bored,” she warned. “Unless you have a secret tendresse for one of the Thayer twins.”

The hint of a smile twitched his lips. “Redheaded hoydens. Trouble, if ever there was any, and certainly incapable of keeping you out of it. That would be like setting the fox to guard the henhouse.”

“I do not need anyone to keep me out of trouble. I am quite capable of that, myself.”

His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Really?”

A flash of heat washed through her. Was he thinking of that night in the catacombs beneath the chapel? He was right—she had gotten herself in trouble before.

She drew herself up and spun on her heel to go back to the ballroom. He will not humiliate me into doing as he wants, and he will not intimidate me, either!

Jamie watched her go, half wanting to go after her, and half wanting to lock her away in some safe place until this business with Henley was finished. Why had he never noticed that stubborn streak?

He plucked a rose from a bush climbing the arbor he passed on his way to the stables and held it to his nose. Sweet and blossoming, like Miss Eugenia, herself. His body stirred with the thought of her soft heated flesh beneath him, her dark hair spread upon his pillow and those lush lips parted with a sigh as he entered her. He groaned and shook his head. He had no right to be thinking of her in that way. She’d made it plain that she disliked him.

Happily, there were many who did, and he was not adverse to settling when his first choice was not available. He’d find Devlin, see if there was any news, and then go look for female companionship. Perhaps that would take the edge off his adolescent yearning for Miss O’Rourke. And Charlie? Well, Charlie would catch up when he could. Aye, Charlie always knew where to find him—some sort of brotherly instinct.

He tossed a coin to the stable boy who brought his horse, then mounted, turning southeast toward Whitefriars and the Crown and Bear. If Devlin was not there, Jamie would have a drink or two and go find ease at Alice’s. Her girls were known for their enthusiasm and accommodating nature. God knows he could use a bit of that.

Clouds had gathered, obscuring the moon and bringing a chill. This was a night made for chicanery and it was early yet in Whitefriars. Anyone who made an honest living was home abed, and the others…well, the others never slept. As he arrived at the Crown and Bear, the place was alive with noise and laughter. Somewhere down an alley, voices raised in a quarrel carried to him as he left his horse in the stable yard behind the tavern and tossed another coin to Cox, the toothless and bald man who tended the stock.

A few faces turned to look when he entered, then went back to their tankards. A quick scan of the room told him that Farrell wasn’t there. He crossed to the bar and waited while Mick Haddon, the barkeeper, poured a measure of his favorite rye whiskey and brought it to him. Haddon was a good man fallen on hard times, and a cut above the usual trade in the Crown and Bear.

“Farrell in back?” he asked.

“Home. Rarely see him these days,” Haddon answered.

Jamie raised his glass. “To domestic bliss,” he said before he swallowed the contents.

Mick snorted in reply. “Anything I can do for you?”

“What has Farrell told you?”

“To keep an eye out for Henley, and an ear to the ground.”

“And?”

“Nothing, though this is the sort of place Henley would come if he were in a drinking mood. And had he not already crossed Farrell.”

Silently, Jamie agreed. Henley wouldn’t go to his club or to any reputable tavern or gambling hell. He’d frequent only the dregs of London. Places where he’d be unlikely to run into any of his old friends or new enemies. But someone, somewhere, knew where he was and was helping him. Sooner or later, Jamie would find him. He was a very patient man.

“Any unusual activity? Rumors?” he asked.

“Just the usual sort,” Haddon said as he poured another measure for Jamie. “A woman turned up dead in an alley not far from here last night. The charleys were asking around, but it seems she and her husband had a row, and you can guess the rest. I believe the husband has been taken away.”

“Domestic bliss,” Jamie repeated as he finished his drink.

Haddon laughed this time and nodded.

Jamie left his glass on the bar and returned to the stable yard. Old Cox handed him the reins and ducked his head, as if avoiding Jamie’s eyes. His horse danced sideways, skittish about something. Rather than mount, he led his horse out of the yard to the cobblestones, an uneasy feeling raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right.

He bent down to slip the dagger from his boot just as the report of a gunshot sounded close at hand. Brick and mortar scattered in a wide pattern behind him and his horse reared, frightened by the noise. He released the reins, knowing the well-trained animal would not bolt. He rolled to the side, coming up on his feet again near a doorway, his dagger in hand.

Suddenly the price on his head was not quite so amusing. He’d left his pocket pistol at home, not anticipating that he’d be visiting the rookeries tonight. The sound of running footsteps down an adjacent alley told him that the assassin had taken his best shot and was now making his escape.

He was in full pursuit down the alley, gaining on the culprit, when it occurred to him that this had all gone off too smoothly. He knew these streets well enough to know the assassin was leading him toward a blind alley. An ambush? But who would be waiting for him? Henley? The Gibbons brothers? He was alone. Should he take the chance?

“Oh! I nearly swooned when I saw him waltz you out the terrace door!”

Gina gave Hortense a bland smile. “Nothing happened. He was merely inquiring as to my mother’s health.”

“Was he, indeed?” Harriett teased. “And why should your mother’s health be a concern of his?”

Gina laughed. “My mother’s health is everyone’s concern. She makes it so at every encounter.”

“Then you cannot confirm or deny the rumors concerning Mr. Hunter’s…skills?”

“Alas.” Indeed. The memory of that brief moment of promise brought a little smile to her lips.

“Ah! I see you are gaining confidence, Gina.” Harriett squeezed her hand and winked at her sister. “Our little protégé is blooming.”

Yes, she was gaining confidence but she was far from being at ease. She was acutely aware that there could be men present who had heard of her ordeal. Perhaps even a few who had been there, who had seen her. Though they were unlikely to mention it, she had felt the weight of clandestine eyes upon her.

She glanced around the ballroom as they strolled toward the punch bowl, wondering if James Hunter was still there, watching her. When her eye caught Miss Metcalfe dancing a lively reel with an eager young man, she was suddenly struck with a memory. Metcalfe! Was that not a name she’d heard before? A man who had been a friend of Mr. Henley and who had been at that scandalous tableau?

“Harriett, what can you tell me about Miss Metcalfe?” she asked. “Does she have family?”

“Goodness, yes! A handsome brother by the name of Stanley.”

“Is he here tonight?”

Hortense craned her neck to look about in one direction while Harriett scanned the other. “I do not see him. Come to think of it, Harri, have we seen him at all in the last few weeks?”

Harriett chortled. “No, but it does not matter. I do not think he would suit you, Gina.”

“Oh?”

“He is engaged to a dear friend of ours. Miss Christina Race. Have you met her?”

Gina shook her head. In truth, she’d met very few people since arriving in London.

“She and Missy have been almost inseparable since the engagement, have they not, Hortense?”

Hortense nodded. “Like peas in a pod. Would you like to meet them? The reel is almost over and I believe I saw Christina near the fireplace.”

Her heart beating harder, Gina donned an airy smile. “That would be lovely. The more people I meet, the less you will have to coddle me.”

“Pshaw!” Harriett laughed. “We adore coddling you, Gina. Why, introducing a pretty newcomer lends us a certain mystery and importance we do not possess on our own.”

Gina laughed. She had noted how many heads the twins had turned, and not just because they were identical. They certainly did not need an unknown newcomer to gain attention.

The twins flanked her as they headed toward the fireplace at one end of the ballroom, nodding at acquaintances as they passed. Their progress was slow and perfectly timed to coincide with the end of the reel.

Gina had been watching the dancers and when they stopped she turned her attention back to the group at the fireplace. Surprise coupled with a twist of her stomach shot through her. There stood a lovely woman of average height with glossy black hair and eyes nearly as dark. Her fair complexion deepened with the pink of a blush as she recognized Gina’s face. The woman from the tableau—and she was engaged to Mr. Metcalfe!

Hortense performed the introduction. “Miss Eugenia O’Rourke, I am pleased to present our dearest friend, Miss Christina Race. Miss Race, please meet Miss O’Rourke.”

Gina noted the tiny plea in those eyes. Clearly the woman did not want to acknowledge their previous acquaintance. How could they ever explain that away? She took a deep breath. “Miss Race, how nice to make your acquaintance. I pray you will not hold these two against me,” she said with a nod toward the twins.

The woman smiled and squeezed Gina’s hand in gratitude. “If you will do the same, Miss O’Rourke.”

Harriett arched one elegant eyebrow. “Come now. Our reputations are not quite that bad.”

Laughing and jesting with a young man over her shoulder, Miss Metcalfe returned from the dance floor and was quickly introduced. “O’Rourke? Is your sister the one who finally tamed Lord Libertine?”

Gina frowned, unfamiliar with the title.

Hortense laughed. “She means Andrew Hunter, Gina. That was our pet name for him until your sister domesticated him.”

She smiled. “Yes, then. Isabella married Mr. Hunter and they seem quite content.”

Miss Metcalfe sighed as she fanned herself. “That gives the rest of us hope, then. If he succumbed to the parson’s mousetrap, there can be hope that one of us might yet snare James or Charles Hunter.”

“I…I wouldn’t know, Miss Metcalfe.”

“Yet I saw you dance with James,” she said, almost like an accusation. “That is, until he sneaked you out to the garden.”

Gina was taken aback by the woman’s bluntness. “He was doing his duty to me, Miss Metcalfe. And reminding me to mind my manners.”

Miss Metcalfe fell silent after Gina’s rejoinder and Hortense introduced her companion. “Miss O’Rourke, may I present Mr. Adam Booth? Mr. Booth, please meet Miss O’Rourke.”

The man bent over her hand and a flicker of something passed through his eyes as he straightened and met her gaze. “Have we met, Miss O’Rourke? I could swear I’ve seen those remarkable eyes before.”

He’d been at the tableau. Had he been at the ritual? She slowly withdrew her hand from his and forced a smile. “You are too kind, Mr. Booth. I doubt we have met since I have not been much in society. In any case, I am certain I’d have remembered a gentleman as handsome as you.”

He grinned and the tension went out of his posture. “Well, I shan’t forget you again, Miss O’Rourke. Alas, I must be off to meet friends but I pray you will save me a dance ‘til the next time we meet.” He bowed over her hand.

She gave him a stiff smile. Had there been something familiar in his request, or was she being overly sensitive? “I shall look forward to it, Mr. Booth.”

Alone now, the ladies proceeded to discuss Mr. Booth and his various attributes—the width of his shoulders, the color of his gray-blue eyes, the size of his…bank account. Gina relaxed, the conversation so similar to those she’d had with her sisters long before any of them married.

“And you, Miss O’Rourke? Who do you prefer?” Miss Race asked.

“I am far too new to the scene to have a preference,” she said, though Jamie Hunter’s face came to mind.

“My dear,” Harriett said, “I know just what you mean. Why, if Miss Race hadn’t already taken Mr. Metcalfe, I might cast my cap in that direction.”

Gina seized that opportunity. “When am I to meet Mr. Metcalfe?”

Missy Metcalfe rolled her eyes heavenward. “I can’t imagine where he’s been keeping himself. Between his friends and his club, we scarcely see him at home anymore. Why, Christina sees him more than we.”

They all turned to Miss Race for confirmation.

“I, uh, did see him earlier tonight. I believe he said he was gambling with a few of his friends.”

“Men,” Hortense said, as if that explained everything.

Miss Race drew herself up as if she’d made a sudden decision. “Accompany me to the ladies’ retiring room, Miss O’Rourke? I’d love to hear about your native land. I’ve never been to Ireland, though Stanley and I have discussed taking our wedding trip there.” She linked arms with Gina, leading her away from the group.

When they were out of hearing, Miss Race pulled Gina into a private corner. “I must thank you for not giving me away. I saw that you recognized me, too, and I prayed you would not mention it to the others.”

Gina gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’d have had to give myself away, Miss Race, and I was not about to do that.”

“Call me Christina,” she said before rushing on. “And I want to assure you that I do not frequent such places as the one where we first met. Stanley had been invited by some of his friends and did not understand the sort of…affair it was to be, or he swears he never would have taken me. And I …

well, I could see that you were not accustomed to such things either.”

“I had never seen a complete stranger unclothed before. But to do so in such a public manner, and in such a pose, was a great surprise to me.”

“Wicked London,” Christina murmured. “There is quite a different world here than the one we inhabit, Miss O’Rourke.”

She weighed the risk of mentioning Mr. Henley so soon, but she hadn’t much time herself. “You must call me Gina, then. Meeting you has been quite fortuitous. You see, I am actually looking for some of the people in our group that night.”

The woman shuddered. “Why?”

“I lost something that night, and I believe one of them might have it, or know where it is.”

“I cannot recall anyone finding something that night. But I wish you luck of it, Gina, and I must say I admire your courage. For myself, I hope never to see any of them again.”

“Oh. I understand.” Gina turned away.

“I did not mean you!” Christina stayed her with a hand on her arm. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Did you know them all—the people in our group?”

She shook her head and looked down at the floor as if searching her mind. “That was the first time I stole away to go anywhere privately with Stanley. I did not know many of his friends, then, and I have not seen those particular ones since. Most were like you, complete strangers.”

“Would you ask Mr. Metcalfe if he remembers that night, and who was there? If he would be willing to meet with me, perhaps I could persuade him to help.”

Christina looked doubtful. “I shall ask him, of course, but I think he’d rather leave that night in the distant past.”

“Tell him that I urgently and desperately need his help. Tell him that my entire future depends upon it.”

Christina searched her face and then nodded. “My goodness! What did you lose?”

“Something irreplaceable. Something I must recover.”

“But of course I shall tell him, my dear. The very next time I see him.”

“Tomorrow?” she urged.

“I…Yes. Are you going to the Albermarle crush Tuesday next?”

She recalled seeing that name in the calendar and stack of invitations Lady Sarah had given her and nodded.

“I shall ask him to accompany me there.”

“Thank you.” Gina squeezed her arm in gratitude.




Chapter Five


Jamie seized the reins again and swung up into his saddle. He hadn’t wanted to disturb Devlin Farrell tonight, but now it couldn’t be helped. The brazen attack on his life had raised too many questions that only Farrell could answer.

The butler left Jamie to cool his heels in Farrell’s study, so he helped himself to a small glass of sherry and took the liberty of pouring one for Devlin. His nerves needed steadying. The warmth from the alcohol had just begun to untwist the knots in his stomach when Devlin entered the study, barefooted, his hair tousled, and still securing his dressing robe.

Jamie was amused to note the lack of a nightshirt where the robe gaped. From the expression on Devlin’s flushed face, he gathered he hadn’t exactly been sleeping. “Sorry,” he said as Devlin downed the contents of the waiting glass and glowered at him.

“I gather this is more important than what I was doing?”

Jamie grinned. “That would depend upon your priorities, I suppose. My life?”

Devlin looked him up and down. “You seem none the worse for wear.”

“I was fortunate. Even so, I barely ducked in time.”

“Ducked? A pistol?”

“One very good shot.”

“Not good enough,” Devlin said, filling Jamie’s glass.

“Oh, it was good enough. But there was something not quite right that put me on my guard just in time.”

“Thank God for your instincts,” Devlin murmured.

“So, it seems your intelligence was right. There actually is a price on my head. Though I think we both know the answer, I’d like confirmation of who is behind it. And, if possible, who was foolhardy enough to attempt it.”

“The Gibbons brothers?”

Jamie shook his head. “I didn’t smell them.” But he’d been uncertain enough not to follow the shooter down the alley where an accomplice might be waiting. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he must have suspected something of the sort.

Devlin was silent for a few moments, an expression of concentration on his face. “I can think of a few more who might take that chance, Hunter. But I doubt they’d own it. I know your principles, and I know you’d need proof before you’d take action, and proof will not exist for such a deed. If the man had a partner, we could…convince his partner to talk. But if he is acting alone …”

“Given the circumstances, I doubt anyone would act alone,” Jamie growled. “Have a word with old Cox, will you? Someone has gotten to him. I don’t know if it was a bribe or a threat, but I’d stake my life that he knew what was afoot.”

“Cox?” Devlin had stiffened and Jamie knew he was angry. Cox was Devlin’s employee, and he’d be furious that the man would compromise his position. “What makes you think so?”

“When I went for my horse, he was behaving strangely. Wouldn’t meet my eyes. ‘Twas one of the things that warned me that things were not what they should be.”

Devlin gave a grim nod. “Rest assured, Cox and I will have a chat first thing in the morning. I am certain he will be pleased to share whatever information he has.”

Jamie could guess how “pleased” Cox would be by the time Devlin was through with him. “And you, Dev? Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing helpful. One of the lads reported seeing Henley in the rookeries. Said he appeared to have money and was dressed like the fop he is. The lad lost him before he could find out where his quarters are.”

“Not helpful? To the contrary. That information confirms my suspicions. Henley has not left the country, and he has someone helping him if he has access to money and is well groomed. That means he has decent accommodations somewhere. And if he can lose your ‘lads,’ he hasn’t let his guard down.” He hesitated on his way to the door. The next bit of business was delicate, to say the least. “Dev, if you had a sister …”

“For God’s sake! Have you got some poor girl in trouble?”

Jamie laughed. “Never. But your wife has sisters, eh? And if you had reason to think one of them might be in danger, what would you do? “

He studied Jamie for one long moment. “Miss Eugenia?”

“Perhaps.”

“Who else? Your only sister is married to a man more than capable of taking good care of her. Drew would slice the hands off anyone who’d touch Isabella, and I’d do much worse, believe me, to anyone who would raise a voice to Lilly. The only sister left is Eugenia.”

“After months as a recluse, she has decided all of a sudden that it is time for her to enter society.”

“Miss Eugenia? Timid little mouse?”

Jamie sighed. “You do not know her if that is what you think, Devlin. Before that night at the chapel, she was full of fire and sparkle. I gave thought to…well, never mind. Any chance of that is past. But now she is venturing out into the same society that Henley and the rest belonged. You mentioned Metcalfe and Booth. I pray you are right about them—that they were not a part of the Brotherhood, but had only been invited to the ritual that night. But I worry that someone else, someone we don’t know, could recognize her.”

“I see the problem. They’d want to put her out of the way so she couldn’t identify them. Have you talked to her?”

“She is determined. She will not listen to reason. You’ve seen her, Dev. You know what a beauty she is. She cannot help but draw attention. There is, quite literally, no way to keep her contained.”

“One way. But it falls to you or Charlie.”

Jamie nodded, already knowing what he was going to say. He’d hoped Devlin would know of another way, a safer way.

“Dog her footsteps. Wherever she goes, be there, too. It should not delay you long. Lilly told me that her mother is going back to Belfast in a fortnight and Miss Eugenia with her.”

“How can I keep her safe when someone is shooting at me?”

Devlin chortled. “I doubt you will be following her to the parts of London you were in tonight. And once she is safely abed, you’ll be free to follow your leads. A few hours a night for a fortnight. That cannot be too much a chore.”

“Perhaps I could trade off with Charlie to keep her from getting suspicious. I do not like to think what she would do if she suspected we were watching her.”

“Charlie?” Devlin laughed. “If you turn a woman like Miss Eugenia over to your brother, you’re not the man I thought you were.”

The next night, Jamie blessed his sister and her penchant for writing things down. Taking Devlin’s suggestion to heart, all he’d had to do was call on her this afternoon, ask her for a cough tonic, and then take a quick look through the papers on her little desk while she was in the kitchen concocting the brew. His hunch had been right. Sarah was easing Eugenia’s way into society, using the Thayer twins as her companions for meeting the “right” people.

Now, there in the midst of the Albermarle ballroom, shining brighter than any crystal chandelier, and right where his sister’s notes said she would be, was Miss Eugenia. Despite the crush of people, he had spotted her within seconds of entering.

Yes, he had Eugenia’s complete schedule for the next fortnight. Convenient. And it barely troubled his conscience at all. Sarah would never know. And it wasn’t as if he wanted the information for nefarious purposes. Quite the opposite. He could not keep her at home, nor could he let her wander into disaster, so following her was the only way to safeguard her. And there was no sense in hiding it since she would soon suspect something of the sort. He might as well throw down the gauntlet.

As he approached her group, peopled by the crème de la crème of the ton, he noted that she was even more stunning tonight than last night. Her gown was of a deep violet watered silk. A row of tiny leaves had been embroidered at the hem and décolletage. A matching neck band displaying a perfect oval amethyst hid her scar, and she looked as untouched and serene as a Madonna. How was it possible that she grew lovelier each time he saw her?

As if she could feel the weight of his eyes, she turned to him. A fleeting smile curved her lips, then died as if she had remembered something unpleasant. He hid his disappointment as he approached the group.

Harriett Thayer was the first to acknowledge him. “Mr. Hunter! How delightful. We so rarely see you, and here, two nights in a row, we are fortunate enough to encounter you. To what do we owe this rare pleasure?” Her smile was coy and her eyes slid toward Miss Eugenia. Harriett, at least, suspected the real reason for his being there.

He smiled as a few of the young men bowed and wandered away, unsure which of his varied reputations was responsible. “Why, to your charming company, ladies. What else could lure a gentleman out on a cold night?”

“Then we shall require you to warm yourself by dancing with all of us,” Hortense teased. “There is a scandalous lack of eligible men here tonight.”

“Then you first, Miss…Hortense?”

She took his offered hand. “How very clever of you, Mr. Hunter. Most people cannot tell us apart.”

“I am observant, m’dear. Under ordinary circumstances, I cannot tell you apart, but I know, for instance, that you have a charming little quirk of raising your right eyebrow. When Miss Harriett attempts it, her left eyebrow raises.”

“The mirror effect,” she said with a little laugh. “Drat! We have been found out, Harri.”

He led her to the dance floor where a lively reel was in progress. Both Misses Thayer were excellent partners, quick, supple and skilled. The pace kept them apart quite a bit and spared him the necessity of making mundane conversation. When he returned her to her friends, he claimed Miss Harriett for a stately march.

“I conceive you have an interest in our Miss O’Rourke, do you not?” she asked when they met for a bow.

“I own it. She is family now, you know.”

“I mean beyond that, Mr. Hunter. You do not look at her as a brother would.”

Denial was useless, but perhaps he could manage her suspicions of his reasons. “Your perception astounds me, Miss Harriett. Will you expose me?”

“Tout au contraire!” She gave him a saucy wink. “I shall do all I can to encourage her. Not for your sake, Mr. Hunter, but for the good of all womankind.”

“How would such a suit serve the good of all womankind?”

“Cupid’s arrow has already brought your brothers Lockwood and Andrew down. Should you follow, I vow that women of the ton would be vastly encouraged. Yes, women everywhere would take heart that any man can be caught.”

He laughed at her outrageous analysis of the situation, though he realized there was a grain of truth in it. He and his brothers had all been single far too long, and he was apt to remain so for a good deal longer than Miss Harriett suspected.

When he returned Miss Harriett to her companions, there was another young lady he had not met. Miss Hortense performed the introduction to Miss Christina Race. She was a darkly ethereal woman, as quiet and composed as the deep green gown she wore. When he bowed over her hand, she returned his smile.

He watched Miss Eugenia from the corner of his eye, noting that she looked anxious. Was she concerned that he would not mind his manners? No. She knew him well enough by now to know he would not embarrass Miss Race.

He led her onto the dance floor for a quadrille and attempted polite conversation as they met, parted and met again. “I believe we have been previously introduced, Miss Race?”

“I do not think so, Mr. Hunter. I am certain I would have remembered.”

“Then how is your face familiar?”

“‘Twould not be so odd, sir, as we frequent the same events. Perhaps you have seen me across a room? Perhaps at the punch bowl? Or perhaps we have passed in the street?”

He conceded the point, though he still suspected they knew each other in some manner or another. “How have you fallen into such bad company as the Thayers and Miss O’Rourke?”

She laughed softly and he was enchanted by the sound. “I have known Hortense and Harriett for quite some time. Our families are connected. I have only just met Miss O’Rourke.”

“Tell me what you think of her.”

He sensed a slight stiffening in her frame as he passed her beneath his arm. “She is quite agreeable. In fact, she has requested that I join their group tonight. I think we shall get along famously.”

Miss Eugenia requested? An innocent enough way to meet and become acquainted with new people, though he could not help but think she was up to something. Miss Eugenia was not random in her actions.

The dance ended and Jamie’s anger rose when he returned Miss Race only to find that Miss Eugenia had disappeared. She’d known she was next and had tried to subvert him. How little she knew of his determination! It would take more than she was capable of to keep him from his purpose.

“Miss O’Rourke offers her apologies, but she was…ah, fatigued and has gone to the ladies’ retiring room,” Miss Harriett explained.

Harriett Thayer was not a good liar. He smiled, offered a bow, and excused himself to take up station at the corridor leading to the ladies’ retiring room.

Before long, and thinking she was now safe, Miss Eugenia rounded the corner on her way back to her friends. He fell into step beside her and took her arm, guiding her back toward the ballroom. “Ah, my patience has rewarded me. How could I possibly leave without our dance?”

Gina covered her astonishment as best she could. She’d been so sure she’d evaded him. He was more patient than she had thought. “I confess to a certain curiosity, Mr. Hunter. Have you always been quite this…social? Or is this a new habit?”

He laughed. “You have me there, although I do tend to be more social than my brothers. And, when there is something to interest me, I am positively unshakable.”

“Hmm. So then am I to gather that you are testing the boundaries of our truce? Or are you sweet on someone here?”

“Both, if I am to be honest. And, since it is my fate to dote upon someone who hates me, if you refuse me I shall be quite inconsolable.”

He led her into the strains of a waltz and Gina sighed. She was glad he had saved their dance for last. Oh, she had dreaded it, and had even tried to avoid it, but now that the inevitable had happened, she found her excitement rising. James Hunter always made her feel as if she were about to embark on an exciting adventure.

“So thoughtful, Miss O’Rourke? Or are you anxious to return to your friends?”

“They are quite diverting,” she allowed, but she was more concerned with keeping him away from Miss Race. If he made the connection between the girl and the Brotherhood, he would instantly know what she was doing. And yet, she could not help but ask, “Had you not met Miss Race before?”

A brief look of uncertainty passed over his features. “I had not had that pleasure. I must say she is quite lovely. I find it difficult to believe I managed to miss her before.”

“Connoisseur of lovely women that you are?”

He laughed and swung her in a wide circle. “Are you calling me conceited, Miss O’Rourke?”

“Heaven forbid! Fickle, perhaps …”

“For what it is worth, I rank you among the loveliest to grace the ton, Miss O’Rourke. And by my reckoning, you are generating a good deal of interest.”

The hair raised on the back of Gina’s neck. She had felt the stares, but she suspected they were for a different reason, and likely from men who had seen her naked on a stone altar. And interest was not what she wanted to generate. She’d rather blend into the background—the better to overhear snippets of conversation that could be of help to her.

“There is that look again,” Mr. Hunter said. “The one that tells me I’ve said something wrong.”

“Not wrong, Mr. Hunter. It is just that…well, I do not want to generate interest.”

“Then why have you come out in society?”

“I…I thought I should experience London before returning to Ireland.”

His eyes narrowed and he drew her off the dance floor. “That is a bare-faced lie, Miss O’Rourke. It was a lie the first time you told it, and it is now. I would hazard you have experienced more than enough of London.”

She gasped at his sudden fierceness. “The wrong London. I wanted to take a happier memory home with me.”

He took her hand and led her into the famed Albermarle gardens among dozens of strolling couples. Still, it was more private than the ballroom. He found them a bench surrounded by sculpted evergreens and gestured for her to sit. As much as she would have liked to return to the ballroom, she followed his direction.

“Now, Miss O’Rourke,” he began as he stood in front of her, one foot propped on the bench next to her hip, as if to keep her from bolting. “I know you are up to something. Do not bother to deny it.”

“Really, sir. I needn’t explain myself to you.”

“You are going to explain to someone. Me or Andrew. Or better yet, your mother.”

Gina shuddered. Her mother would have hysterics followed by locking Gina in her room until their return to Ireland. “I’ve told you the truth before. I am tired of hiding in fear. I will not live the rest of my life locked away or shunning society. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Apart from sneaking out and joining in fast company to go places no decently brought-up young woman should ever go? Apart from keeping company with the likes of Henley? Apart, even, from nearly getting yourself killed?”

She had underestimated his anger. And he had misjudged hers. He had backed her into a corner, and he was going to pay the consequences of that. “Are you saying that I am to blame for what happened to me? “

“Only in that you made a series of wrong decisions for all the right reasons. But you cannot ignore the fact that you are a female, with all the vulnerabilities of that sex.”

“I am not ignoring it, but I will not allow it to prevent me from doing what I must.”

“And what is that, Miss O’Rourke?”

“Talk to people, discover if anyone knows what has become of Mr. Henley. See to it that he is captured and punished.”

“Even if that means exposing your …”

Gina’s stomach turned. Exposing her shame? The fact that she had been splayed on a stone altar? That she was to have been raped and killed for the titillation of dissolute men? No! Dear Lord, no. She did not want any of it made public. But if she was not willing to risk that, Henley was sure to get away with what he’d done to her and countless others. “Even then,” she confirmed, keeping her voice steady and determined.

He looked into her eyes, measuring her determination. “Miss O’Rourke, the Home Office is doing all it can. How can you think you will succeed where they have not?”

“For precisely that reason. They have not succeeded. How can I possibly do worse? And how can I return to Ireland knowing that vile man is still free? Free to come after me. Free to debauch other innocent women.”

“You think we failed you.” Anger coupled with something darker crossed his handsome features. “Then surely you can see the folly in putting yourself in harm’s way.”

“Mr. Henley is in hiding. He is no threat to me as long as I am in society because he will not risk being seen. I only want to discover if anyone knows where he can be found. I promise you, Mr. Hunter, I will give you that information the moment I have it.”

“You will …” He looked at her in disbelief and raked his fingers through his dark hair. “Damn it, the only thing you should do is go home to Ireland!”

She stood and turned toward the terrace doors and the ballroom. She hadn’t taken more than a single step when he seized her arm and spun her around as he stepped forward. The momentum landed her squarely against his chest and she was forced to look up to see his expression—fury and frustration. “I don’t give a fig where you think I should go!” she exclaimed.

“Don’t you see the danger? Don’t you know what the mere sight of you does to a man? “

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but it was too late. His left arm went around her to hold her captive while his right hand cupped the back of her head, preventing her from turning away.

His mouth came down on hers with desperation she could feel in every line of his body. His lips were challenging, not punishing. They were firm, warm and tinged with sweet wine. His tongue slipped along the seam of her lips, urging hers to open. Not knowing why, she did, and his moan was the answer. She brought her fists up, intending to push him away, but her hands opened and slipped around his neck. She had never felt anything as exciting as this before and she was dizzy with the heady sensation.

Surer now, more confident, he softened his assault to coax an answering moan from her. She scarcely recognized her own voice in that sigh. He pulled her closer, pressing her along the length of him until she could feel something as firm and unyielding as his chest pressing against her lower abdomen. Oh, how she wanted more of that feeling! Encouraged, he deepened the kiss and Gina knew she was being branded, claimed, owned entirely by this man. Only James Hunter could have robbed her of the will to resist.

Heavenly and wicked at the same time. Now she understood. She couldn’t move, couldn’t break the spell of his arms, and she didn’t want to. No, she never wanted this kiss to end. She was breathless at the way her breasts tingled as they pressed against his chest and at the way a needful ache bloomed where his erection burned into her. She wanted him. She needed him.

He released her with a choked groan and stepped back, leaving her to stagger without his support. “You…you have my apologies, Miss O’Rourke.”

She spun around and ran for the terrace door. He must never know what that kiss had done to her. Never see it in her eyes or read it on her face. She’d been ready to surrender everything to him when he’d only kissed her to shut her up or teach her a lesson. Well, he’d never have that opportunity again!




Chapter Six


Gina was certain there was some trace of that kiss visible to the guests in the ballroom. She was changed somehow, and there would have to be a sign of that. She glanced toward Hortense and Harriett, who were laughing and fanning themselves flirtatiously while engaged in conversation with at least five young men. How could she join them when her heart was still racing so?

She glanced around for a familiar face, someone she could talk to. Where had Miss Race gone? She’d promised to bring Mr. Metcalfe. A quick glance around the ballroom revealed that the girl was not dancing. In fact, she could find no trace of her. Surely she wouldn’t have left without a word?

A flash of green caught her attention and she watched as Miss Race entered the ballroom from a terrace door. She paused to pat her hair into place and sweep a gaze about the room. When she saw Gina, she gave a small smile and a nod as she came toward her.

She was flushed when she took Gina’s hand and led her into the corridor. “I looked for you, Gina, but you disappeared. Stanley was here, but he could not stay.”

She tried to hide her dismay. “I…I have missed him?”

“He said he knew who you were and was willing to help you, but he does not like to stay too long in any place.”

“Has he always been like that, Christina?”

The girl frowned. “Only since…the middle of summer. It is as if he is afraid something will happen if he stays too long.”

Could Mr. Metcalfe be trying to avoid Mr. Henley, too? But Mr. Henley would never attend a ball—too brazen, and too many people knew him. Or did Mr. Metcalfe fear the authorities were after him? What a hopeless muddle.

Gina squeezed Christina’s hands. “Did he say how he could help me? “

“Oh, yes.” She rummaged in her little beaded reticule, pulled a small object out and pressed it into Gina’s hand. “I was to give you this, and tell you that he will find you at a more opportune time. I took the liberty of telling him I have been invited to attend the Morris masquerade three days hence, and that you will be there with Hortense and Harriett. He said we should look for a leper.”

Leper? That would mean a black hooded robe and bell about his neck. He should be easy enough to find. “Three days? Could I not speak to him sooner?”

“I am afraid not. He said he had much to do. Now, you must excuse me. I should return to my party.”

Gina tried to hide her impatience as Christina hurried away to join a group of young people who were preparing to leave. Almost forgotten in her disappointment, she looked down and opened her hand. A key? Pray, what did it open?

Throw down the gauntlet? What a bloody good idea that turned out to be! Instead of basking in triumph with little Miss Eugenia packing for home, Jamie was the one who’d been defeated with a kiss and at the mercy of a sweet-smelling nymph who gave as good as she got. Gave better, actually. And the accusation that the Home Office—he—had failed her ripped through his heart. It was bad enough to fear it himself, but to hear her say it was a confirmation of all his worst fears.

He riffled through the papers on his desk at the Home Office looking for his notes, certain there would be something to either bolster his case or tell him where Henley was hiding. Fast. He had to end this before Henley came after Eugenia. There had to be something he had overlooked. Something so subtle that it had escaped him.

“Good Lord! You take to abandoning me at balls and I find you working into the wee hours! What has happened to you, Jamie? All work and no play is not like you.”

He glanced up to see Charlie leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded over his chest and looking for all the world as if he’d just slept twelve hours. “Not like you,” Jamie corrected. “What are you are doing here—and do not tell me you were trying to find me.”

Charlie shrugged and came to sit in the chair across the desk from him. “My mind wanders. You know how easily bored I am. And I’m looking for company. I hate to carouse alone.”

Jamie finally pushed his papers aside and gave his brother his attention. “You haven’t been carousing, Charlie. You’re far too fresh for that. Come clean.”

He grinned. “Not precisely carousing. But I’ve certainly been in that part of town. I met Devlin at the Crown and Bear.”

“Lilly will not thank you for leading him astray.”

“Me? Perish the thought. I am merely learning from the master.”

“Master of what? Are you taking up a life of crime?”

His grin faded as he sat forward in his chair. “I am trying to decipher Devlin’s sources, his network of informants. Alas, I lack his reputation to give strength to my requests, but I am gaining ground there.”

“I wonder if I should ask what is required to become credible to that lot of scoundrels.”

“I wouldn’t. Not for the squeamish.” Charlie quirked an eyebrow.

“I should also warn you to be prepared for rumors concerning Miss O’Rourke and me.”

Charlie blinked, then shook his head. “You had me there for a minute. I almost thought you, of all people, had found the ‘one.’ Well, never mind. So you want society to think you’re courting? Is Miss O’Rourke going along with this?”

“She will likely be quite distressed when she learns of it. But my requests that she stay at home and be protected have fallen on deaf ears. She intends to ask her own questions and meddle in Home Office business. Henley will be looking for a way to get at her. She is one of the last who could testify against him—that he drugged and kidnapped her.”

“So you intend to hang on her every word? Discourage any other suitors? Make it impossible for her to locate Henley?”

“Precisely.”

“And if she sends you away?”

“I shall stand fast.”

“You know what society will say about this affair, do you not? That you are beyond smitten, and that the O’Rourke girl has made a jackanapes of you.”

Jamie laughed. “Not to my face, they won’t.”

“Ah,” Charlie said, “and this will work well into your usual scheme, will it not? In seasons to come, it will be whispered that your heart is broken and no marriage-minded chit should set her cap for you. Damn clever.”

“My usual scheme?”

“Your reputation in the ton, Jamie. Nary an ingenue nor a courtesan has held your attention long. ‘Tis just a matter of time before you move along to the next entertainment.”

He forced a grin and a shrug. “You will not give me away? “

“Never! Furthermore, I shall join you in your game. I do not intend to let you go about alone at night again. Whoever wants you dead will not have an easy time of it.”

“Or Henley will get two Hunters for the price of one.”

“I am so pleased that you let the gentlemen go off to their club after church,” Mama announced as they sat down to the table and shook her napkin out to lay it across her lap. “Now it is just me and all my girls. Well, the ones I have left.” She sniffled and touched her handkerchief to the corners of her eyes.

Gina shot a quick glance at her sisters and noted that both Bella and Lilly did the same. By their tense expressions, she realized they all feared that Mama was winding up for a bout of hysteria.

“But enough of that,” Mama continued, laying their fears to rest. “We all miss Cora dreadfully, but we must accept God’s will. I am simply grateful for the opportunity to have my little family all to myself. There are things we must discuss. Plans to form and decisions to be made.”

“There is time for that, Mama,” Bella said as a maid served a platter of cold sliced meat.

“Not much time at all, dear. Less than a fortnight. ‘Twould be sooner if I could arrange it.”

Ten days, by Gina’s reckoning, counting this one. Yes, she was painfully aware of the ticking of the clock. Ten days to find Henley. Ten days to avenge Cora and reclaim her own future.

“And we must look to the future. I will scarce be settled at home when I will have to come back here. March, will it not be, Bella?”

“M-March?” Her sister colored a most interesting shade of fuchsia.

“Oh, do not deny it,” their mother smirked. “I know my daughters. Your husband did not waste much time getting an heir on you. You shall have an early spring babe. And I know a girl wants her mother at such a time. Never fear, Bella. I shall be here for you.”

Bella looked at Gina and Lilly for help, but as Bella did not deny their mother’s conclusion, there was nothing they could say.

“And Lilly, you shall not be far behind, I think. From the look of that strapping husband of yours, I would not be surprised to welcome twins by summer.”

“Mother, we have been married little more than a week!”

“Aye, it does not take long. My girls will be no less fertile than I. And your husband looks no less virile than Bella’s. Boys, I’d warrant. A great pity your father will not be here to see it. He always wanted sons.”

“Then perhaps you should stay rather than go and have to return so soon,” Bella offered. “Andrew has often said you are welcome to stay as long as you please.”

“Aye, but we cannot leave our home in Belfast vacant so long. The servants will be stealing us blind. No, we must return as soon as may be, and Gina will have to stay there when I return in the spring. Someone must watch over the house.”

Lilly raised her eyebrows and leaned forward as she spoke. “But you cannot leave Gina alone, Mama. A single woman …”

“Faugh! Gina is a spinster now. Both older and younger sisters are married. No one is like to offer for her now. She may as well make herself useful.”

Gina was astonished. It had never occurred to her that her own mother would consider her little better than an unpaid companion.

“And she is scarred, besides,” Mama continued. She turned to look at Gina with a frown. “You were never clumsy before, child. Falling on the stairs and cutting yourself with a broken glass—why, I never heard of such a thing happening before to any of my girls. And now you must cover it whenever you go about in public. I am certain you would much rather not leave the house. Yes, you will be more comfortable at home. In Belfast.”

Gina’s hand went to her throat as it always did at any mention of her scar. The story they’d told their mother about how it had happened was a bit flimsy, but she had believed it, nonetheless.

“Mama!” Lilly protested. “Gina is in her prime, and the physician said the scar will fade with time.”

Bella nodded. “Lady Sarah has said that Gina is a great success in society. Why, a few young men have asked after her. If you must return to Belfast, you should leave Gina here with us.”

She was warmed by her sisters’ defense, though she doubted Bella’s veracity. Who would have asked after her? She’d only danced with a handful of young men.

Mama shrugged. “What? Leave her with you? And no one to guide her? Why, Mr. Hunter and Mr. Farrell are hardly the sort to look after a young girl.”

A young girl? Moments ago she’d been a spinster. Gina sighed as the simple truth dawned on her. Mama did not want to be alone. She did not want the last of her daughters to be out of reach. And Mama was likely to do anything she could to keep Gina by her side and at her beck and call.

“Mama—” Lilly began.

“Gina is coming home with me, and that is an end to it.” Mama waved one hand in dismissal of the subject.

The remainder of lunch was punctuated with sighs and awkward spurts of bland conversation while Gina felt as if she might jump out of her skin. The future her mother had mapped out for her was never one she would have chosen. One, in fact, she found abhorrent and, in its own way, terrifying. But given her circumstances, and if she could not find the answers she sought, it would be the only course open to her.

She wouldn’t give up yet, though. She still had ten days and she would make the most of them. Regardless of Mr. Renquist and the Home Office, she would just have to take matters into her own hands.

Her mother excused herself, declaring that she was quite fatigued and needed a nap. The table fell silent until they heard a door close somewhere above them.

“Gina, did you know what she planned?” Lilly asked.

She shook her head, still a bit stunned.

“We must find some way to divert her,” Bella mumbled.

“It is hopeless, and you know it. When Mama has made up her mind, nothing can change it. Nothing will do but that she have her way.”

“But you have not …”

“Escaped?” Gina smiled and looked down at her plate, largely untouched. “Perhaps I could learn to bear that, but I cannot resign myself to the thought that Mr. Henley will not pay for what he has done. That is the one task I cannot leave undone.”

Bella’s eyes darkened as she sat forward. “I’ve seen that look before. What are you planning, Gina? “

“I hardly know. I have made some headway amongst the ton, but progress is slow. I am to meet with Mr. Renquist tomorrow for his report. And …” she hesitated, reluctant to tell them about the little key “… and there has to be more I can do. Other ways to learn what I need.”

Lilly dropped her napkin on her plate and glanced over her shoulder before lowering her voice to a whisper. “If you are game, Gina, I may have an idea. There were some street urchins—lads, Devlin called them—who helped find the evidence against the Brotherhood. They are quite engaging little pickpockets and, for a few coins, they could discover anything.”

“I vow I am not going to turn any source away.”

Lilly nodded and stood, determination in her voice. “I know just where to find them on a Sunday afternoon. Bella, you stay here and if the men return, tell them Gina and I have gone for a stroll through the park and shall be back presently. Gina, fetch your bonnet and shawl.”

Gina glanced around the square at Covent Garden, almost as busy as Hyde Park on a summer afternoon, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched. “How will we ever find them?” she asked Lilly.

“Just dangle your reticule from your wrist and they will come along. Walk slowly and smile as if you have nothing more on your mind than meeting friends. Ned will find us.”

“What will your husband say?”

Lilly laughed. “He would likely ask how much we paid them, and then tell me it was too much.”

“He will not be angry?”

“Not in the least. But I do not intend to tell him.”

“Why?”

“Because I do not know if I can trust him not to tell Andrew or Jamie. Am I correct in thinking you would not want them to know?”

Gina grinned. “Oh, yes. Andrew would take his duty as my closest male relative to heart and forbid me to do more than drink tea and embroider. I thought Devlin might be the same.”

Lilly’s eyes twinkled. “Devlin is far too protective, but he admires women who can think for themselves. Still, he would not want you to endanger yourself. Ah, but how can hiring a few lads endanger you? No, I think we are safe in this.”

Gina was not nearly as worried about what Andrew or Devlin would do as she was about another man. “M-most importantly, I do not want James Hunter to know. He told me last night that, if he had his way, I would return to Belfast at once.”

Lilly’s eyebrows shot up. “No! He would not be so ungentlemanly.”

“He was not in a gentlemanly mood. I am afraid he knows I am looking for Mr. Henley. And I might have suggested that I could hardly do worse than the Home Office.”

“Oh, my!” Lilly did her best to contain her laughter. “I can imagine how he took that. Whatever possessed you to make that charge?”

“I cannot recall. Our conversations tend to deteriorate after a moment or two. It would be best if we simply avoided one another as much as possible, but he has decided to take my safety upon himself. Quite aggravating.”

“I wish you luck, Gina. Knowing the Hunter men, you will need it.”

Gina felt a tug on her arm and turned in time to see a ragged child trying to cut her purse strings. “Here now!”

Lilly peered around her. “Let loose, Ned.”

“Mrs. Lilly! This a friend of yers?”

“My sister.”

The lad released his hold on Gina’s reticule, removed his cap and swept an exaggerated bow. “At yer service, Miss Sister.”

“Miss Eugenia,” Lilly corrected. “And we were looking for you, Ned, and some of your mates.”

“Got a job fer us, Mrs. Lilly?”

“Indeed we have. But I shall let my sister tell you what she needs. Whatever she pays you, Ned, I shall double it if you deliver.”

The boy grinned ear to ear. “You know I will, missus.” He turned to Gina. “What do y’ need, Miss Eugenia?”

“The location of a man named Cyril Henley.”

“Gor! ‘E’s the one we looked fer before, missus.”

“He escaped the net we cast, Ned. But his mates were brought in. He’s the last of them.”

Ned nodded. “I already knowed he got away, missus. I spotted ‘im a couple days ago and told Mr. Farrell. ‘E’s lookin’ for the gent, but I didn’t know anyone else was lookin’ fer him, too.”

Gina held her breath. “Do you know where he is?”

“‘E lost me, Miss Eugenia. Never knowed a gent so slippery. I recognized ‘im from last time, but ‘e got away before I could follow ‘im back to ‘is ‘ole. Can I work fer both of ye?”

“I do not object to Mr. Farrell having the information, Ned, but he must not know I have hired you, too.”

Ned seemed to consider this for a moment. “Well, since ye ain’t askin’ me to keep information from ‘im, I s’pose there’s no ‘arm. Mum’s the word, miss.”

Ignorant of what a pickpocket would charge for such a service, she withdrew a crown from her reticule and pressed it into the grubby hand. “And another when you bring me the information.”

The lad looked down at his palm and grinned. “Aye, miss. An’ where’ll I find ye?”

“You mustn’t come to my home. I shall meet you daily at St. Mary’s.”

Ned glanced at the church on one side of the square and nodded. “Noon too early fer ye?”

“Not in the least.”

He tipped his worn cap and gave an awkward bow. “Don’t ye worry, miss. We know the warrens like nobody else. We’ll ‘ave yer gent soon enough. Oh, an’ did ye know ye was bein’ followed?”

A deep cold invaded her vitals. She scanned the crowd, looking for some sign of someone watching, but nothing appeared amiss. No one betrayed the least interest in her or her sister. Could Ned be wrong?




Chapter Seven


Jamie sipped his wine and allowed the conversation to drift over him as he watched the ladies across the drawing room. Earlier at the dinner table, sitting opposite Miss Eugenia had been a sweet agony of yearning. Each time she brought a spoon to those luscious lips, he remembered how they’d tasted, how they’d felted crushed beneath his own. Though it pained him to admit his own lack of self-control, he knew he’d do it again, given half a chance. And knew, too, that kiss had been the biggest mistake he’d ever made. He’d have been better to imagine it than experience it and yearn for it the rest of his life.

The ladies laughed at something Bella said, and then Miss Eugenia glanced in his direction. Their eyes met for a moment and he held back a groan. He wanted her in a way he’d never wanted any other woman, and with an intensity that left him breathless.

Upon reflection, he realized it was true—what Charlie had said. He had spent his adult life avoiding serious entanglements. He had gone so far as to shun the company of women who would expect more of him. But Miss Eugenia…no, she would be no different. Even as he watched her now, her hand went to her throat, and he knew she was remembering that night. He was a reminder of all she had suffered, of her pain and humiliation. There could never be a future with her.

Ah, but there was the next week or so, until she was whisked back to Ireland. And, torture though it would be, he would avail himself of every opportunity to be near her until then.

“…Cox.”

Jamie returned his attention to his own conversation at the mention of that name. “Cox? “

Charlie grinned, as if he knew where Jamie’s mind had been. “Were you not paying attention, Jamie? Devlin just told us that his stableman, old Cox, is dead.”

“Dead?” Jamie frowned. “Accident?”

“Murder. We found him in a stall. He’d been covered over with hay, but the smell gave him away.”

Jamie studied Devlin’s face. Had Devlin avenged the attempt on Jamie’s life? As usual, Devlin was inscrutable. “Coincidence? Or do you think it had something to do with the other night?”

Devlin’s lips twitched, as if he might smile. “It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re thinking, Hunter. Were I a betting man, I’d wager he was silenced for whatever role he played in that debacle. If he had been paid to help an assassin, it wasn’t by me. He’d been carved up like a Christmas goose. It wasn’t pretty.”

Knife, not a pistol? A pistol was more likely to be a hired killer, but a knife was more…personal. More familiar. Henley was quite proficient with a dagger. But then so were the Gibbons brothers.

He glanced back at Miss Eugenia and a vision of her suffering Cox’s fate chilled him to the bone. She could identify Henley. She could testify against him. Would she be next? Or would he?

Damnation! She had refused to stay safe at home, and he could not let her wander through society indifferent to the danger to her. No simple mooning after her would do. He would have to dog her every footstep. He would have to play the role of her most ardent suitor to keep her close. He would not let her die as Cox had.

It was time to pay the Gibbons brothers a visit. Gina would be safe enough tonight, since Mrs. O’Rourke forbade her girls from entertainments on Sunday nights.

The Gibbons brothers did not have a known address. When Devlin wanted to see them, he merely put the word out and, sooner or later, the brothers turned up at the Crown and Bear. Considering what Jamie suspected, they were not likely to respond this time.

Luckily, he had learned they were known to frequent a flea-infested gin house off Petticoat Lane by the name of the Cat’s Paw. He elbowed the door open and eased in, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. The odor of unwashed bodies and years of spilled ale and gin was noxious. Behind him, Charlie coughed to cover his disgust and they moved to a section of the bar nearest the door.

“What the bloody hell are we going to order?” Charlie muttered under his breath.

Jamie shook his head. The gin would strike them blind and the ale was likely the poorest to be had and diluted with filthy rain water. The tavern keeper, a man with one good eye and another that wandered, asked, “What’ll it be, gents?”

“Bottle of whiskey,” Jamie said. “Bring it unopened.”

He noted they were drawing attention and was undecided if that was good or bad. The Cat’s Paw did not attract men of Hunter’s ilk, but most of the bully boys in the place would think twice before assaulting a gent in public. Once he and Charlie departed and entered a darkened street, however.

When the tavern keeper brought the whiskey, Jamie held it to the light. It was sealed and looked clear, not cloudy with the foul water hereabouts. He nodded at the tavern keeper, who opened the bottle and handed it to him. Jamie raised an eyebrow, took a swig and winced as the cheap rotgut burned a path down his throat. He passed the bottle to Charlie, who did the same.

Jamie tossed the tavern keeper a few coins and waved the unwashed tin cups away.

Charlie grinned as the tavern keeper turned to attend other customers. “I wondered what we could possibly order in here that wouldn’t poison us.”

“We’ll see how big our heads are in the morning.”

A tall figure emerged from the shadows at the back of the room. A shorter figure followed on his heels. They approached Jamie cautiously.

“I knows you,” the taller man said. “One o’ Farrell’s friends, ain’t ye?”

“Hunter’s the name.” Jamie inclined his head toward Charlie. “And this is my brother, Charlie.”

“You th’ gents askin’ fer us?”

“Aye.” He grabbed the whiskey bottle around the neck. “We want a private talk.”

Richard “Dick” Gibbons, the taller and older of the brothers, led the way to a table in a far corner. He and his silent brother, Artie, sat against the wall, leaving Jamie and Charlie to sit with their backs to the room—a dangerous position in this sort of place. Jamie tilted his chair to one side, facing the room, and Charlie did the same, forming a rough semicircle. Artie grinned at their ploy.

Dick Gibbons held out his tin cup and Jamie obliged by pouring a measure of whiskey into it, then did the same with Artie’s cup.

“You remember what we wanted last time?” Jamie asked.

Dick nodded.

“I want it again.”

The eldest Gibbons’s grin made Jamie wary, and he suspected that Henley might have escaped the authorities a few weeks ago because the Gibbons brothers had warned him off. Selling that information to two parties, both Devlin Farrell and Henley, made for double profit. The Gibbonses were treacherous enough for such a move and greedy enough to risk Devlin’s anger.

“Thought ye got ‘em all.”

“You know we didn’t,” Jamie countered, running his own bluff. “And you know who I want.”

Dick seemed to contemplate denial and decide against it. “Henley, is it?”

Charlie took a swig from the bottle and eyed the Gibbons brothers warily. His glance at Jamie warned of caution, but Jamie was beyond that. There was only one way to deal with men like these—plainly. “Henley,” he confirmed.

“‘E’s a dangerous one,” Dick said. “‘E offered a bounty fer ye, didn’t ‘e?”

“You know he did,” Jamie confirmed. “Was it you who took a shot at me two nights ago?”

Artie’s shoulders shook, but his laugh sounded more like a wheeze. His grin split to reveal two rows of rotten teeth. Dick shrugged, but did not answer Jamie’s question.

“I thought a knife was more to your liking,” Charlie said. “Was it you who carved up old Cox?”

“A smart man’d use whatever’d get the job done. We hears th’ Hunters is dangerous, too. Wouldn’t pay ta get too close.”

“I didn’t know that mattered to you and your brother.”

“Don’t.” Dick sat back in his chair and took Jamie’s measure. “If there’s enough money in it.”

Here was the confirmation that the Gibbons brothers would play a double game without the least compunction. “Name your price.”

The Gibbons brothers put their heads together and communicated in whatever way they were able given Artie’s reluctance or inability to speak. When Dick faced him again, he laughed, expelling a cloud of foul breath that nearly sickened Jamie.

“Considerin’ the risk, hundred pounds,” he said.

Jamie kept his expression neutral. The sum was enough to keep a small family for a year. The Home Office would never pay so much, but Jamie could muster that much from his personal accounts. And capturing Henley had become a very personal matter. “Done,” he said. “On delivery.”

“Ain’t our usual way o’ doin’ business,” Dick said, his dull eyes narrowing.

“If you know the Hunters’ reputations, you know we honor our debts. And you know it would not be wise to cross us. You’re already living on borrowed time as far as Devlin Farrell is concerned.”

Both the Gibbons brothers looked nervous for the first time. Whether due to Devlin’s wrath or the Hunters’, it did not matter. All that mattered was that the Gibbons brothers would be unlikely to double-cross them again.

“How’ll we find ye when we gots the information?”

“The Crown and Bear after midnight. If I am not there, leave a message with Mick Haddon and I’ll find you.”

“How lovely Vauxhall is this time of year,” Lady Annica sighed, gesturing at the roses as the ladies strolled along one of the paths. She glanced over her shoulder and the vapid smile faded from her lips. “At last we are alone. Now, tell us what Mr. Renquist reported to you this afternoon, Eugenia.”

The day had been warm and the sun was just dipping below the horizon as their group halted and gathered in a circle to hear the news. Gina took a deep breath before she began.

“He is not particularly hopeful. He says he has made inquiries in all the most likely places, all to no avail. He has not given up, however, and informs me there are still a number of sources he has not yet tapped.”

Grace Hawthorne squeezed her hand. “You look discouraged, dear. But Mr. Renquist has proven his worth ten times over. We have a great deal of faith in him.”

“Yes, but my mother has said she is looking into ways whereupon we can leave for Ireland sooner. I do not know how much more time I may have.”

“Never fear.” Lady Sarah’s violet eyes narrowed, reminding Gina of her brother’s eyes and causing a little tingle to race up her spine. “Should it be necessary for you to leave before we have found the scoundrel, we shall continue. Nary a man has eluded us for long.”

The assurance was comforting, but Gina wanted to be present herself for Henley’s capture. She wanted to witness his humiliation. “Thank you, Lady Sarah. I appreciate all the Wednesday League has done for me.”

She hesitated and glanced at her sister, Lilly. Would the ladies be angry? Chastise her? Even so, they had been forthright with her, and she could be no less with them. “I have also employed some street urchins to keep watch for any sign of Mr. Henley. And to gather whatever information they can.”

They fell silent for a moment as the lamplighters came by, illuminating the pathways for the evening. Lady Annica’s husband, Lord Auberville, had arranged for their entire party to stay for supper and to see the fireworks, one of the last of the season.

Lady Sarah resumed the conversation as if it had never been interrupted. “Excellent. I employed two, myself, when it became necessary. I could give you their names and perhaps they could be pressed into service, as well.”

Gina exhaled a long breath. “Thank you.”

Lady Annica closed her parasol. “Ah, here come the gentlemen. I vow, Sarah, your brothers make a merry group. I would have thought they’d be carousing or scaring up a card game. What do you think could account for their devoted attention to us of late?”

Lady Sarah laughed and shot Gina a teasing wink. “I cannot imagine, though it has been suggested that one of my brothers might be smitten.”

Gina stopped herself from turning around to see who was coming and Lilly gave her a nudge. “There, you see?” she whispered. “James or Charles Hunter is taken by you. Perhaps both. And either of them would do nicely for a husband.”

Husband? Dear heavens! Lilly really had no idea of the nature of her relationship with James. Even if she were able and inclined to marry, he was the last man she would consider.

“Ladies,” Lord Auberville greeted them. “You look as if you are hatching some scheme or surprise. Is it a game we can all play?”

Lady Annica smiled as she took his arm. “It is for ladies only, Auberville. I assure you, you would not want to be a part of this conversation.”

He looked down at her and his smile was only slightly suspicious. “Ah, I see. Ladies’ business, is it?” He turned to the others and quirked an eyebrow. “I have learned not to ask too many questions lest I become privy to information no man should know.”

James Hunter was studying Gina rather too closely. A sardonic smile hovered at the corners of his mouth, telling her that he suspected what the conversation had really been about. She glanced away, afraid she might reveal too much.

Lord Auberville and Lady Annica led the way back toward the pavilion. “We have come to fetch you as our table is ready for us. I shall apologize in advance for the food, but the wine is tolerable.”

Laughter dispelled the tension and they proceeded to the supper box. Dining for such a large party, more than a dozen, took several hours and the evening had grown chill by the time they were finished.

As they exited the dining area, Andrew glanced at his pocket watch. “It is still more than an hour before the fireworks. Shall we take in the musical performance?”

Agreement was quick, but before they’d gone far, Gina found James at her elbow. “Would you consent to stroll down to the river with me, Miss O’Rourke?”

“I …”

“The lights reflected off the water are quite lovely this time of evening.”

“Go on, then,” Lady Sarah said. “But be back for the fireworks. And mind your manners, Jamie.”

He took her arm and turned her toward one of the promenades leading to the Thames. Gina looked up at him and sighed. “I would have thought your sister, of all people, would know that you haven’t any.”

“Manners?” He laughed. “Aye, you’d think she would. Alas, she thinks her brothers are perfect—a myth we tend to perpetuate. Will you give us away?”

“That would depend, Mr. Hunter.”

“Upon what, Miss O’Rourke?”

“Upon how you choose to deal with me.”

“I cannot foresee any changes in the near future.”

“Then your reputation is in jeopardy.”

“Are you still disgruntled about the kiss? I would say I regret it and ask your pardon, but I don’t regret it in the least. In fact, I count it among my most memorable moments.”

She shivered, remembering the bittersweet yearning for something more, and glanced down at the pebbled path rather than betray herself. Unfortunately her little shiver had given her away and he chuckled knowingly as he leaned closer to her ear.

“I think you will not soon forget it either.”

“Did you ask me to walk with you for the express purpose of taunting me, Mr. Hunter?”

He sighed deeply and turned her down a path that branched to their right. “We are a bit past formalities, Eugenia. When we are alone, at least, would you call me Jamie? Or James, if you’d like.”

He had made her name sound like a caress or a sigh. She’d never really cared for her name until that moment. “If…if you’d prefer. But if you did not want to talk to me about what happened in the Albermarle gardens, why did you ask to walk with me? Now your sister thinks …”

“That I am courting you? Precisely. As will everyone else in our party. And, with luck, the news will spread like wildfire throughout the ton.”

“You…you want people to think that? But why?”

“You have refused to stay at home and avoid places and situations where you might encounter trouble. Since I cannot stop you, this is my best chance of protecting you.”

She halted beneath a lantern at a fork in the path and withdrew her hand from his arm. “I do not recall asking for your protection, Mr. Hunter. And, had you asked, I would have refused.”

His voice carried a slight chill when he answered. “Not an option, Eugenia.”

He had put himself directly in her path. Would people talk as freely to her now if they thought she was intimately connected to James Hunter? She rather thought not. This little charade of his would render her completely ineffective. “We must halt this ridiculous rumor at once!”

She turned back the way they’d come but had not gone more than a few steps when he caught her by the arm and pulled her down an unlighted path to the right. When they were quite alone and could not possibly be overheard, he halted and turned to face her.

“We will do no such thing, Eugenia. To the contrary, you will support the fable. There is no escape from it. I intend to dog your every footstep until you are gone back to Belfast.”

“You have no right!”

His handsome face settled into hard lines. “Would you rather I take this matter to someone who does have the right? I believe my brother Andrew and perhaps Devlin Farrell are your nearest male relatives. Do you really think they would look more kindly on your activities than I do?”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Care to make a wager on that, Eugenia?”

Good heavens—he would! From the look on his face, argument would be useless. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. A show of defiance would gain her nothing, but perhaps they could reach a compromise. “I shall do nothing to contradict you, then, but when you are not present—”

“You, Eugenia, will not contradict me. I will always be present.”

“What are you saying?”

“That I intend to be at every function you attend. Furthermore, I shall escort you and your party home each night.”

“Are you mad? People will be expecting a marriage. At the very least, an announcement. One of us will look a jilt when I return to Ireland.”

“I shall take the blame. I have no intention of causing you or your reputation harm. But you must see that you have left me no other recourse to keep you safe from your own recklessness.”

Trapped. She was trapped and she would be hard-pressed to make any progress finding Mr. Henley now. With James at her elbow every time she left the house, who would confide in her? Why, how would she even meet with Miss Race and Mr. Metcalfe at the Morris masquerade? This was intolerable.

She looked up at him in the moonlight, aware for the first time that they had ventured down one of the “dark walks.” Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the strains of an orchestra playing a waltz. Nearer, the call of a bird disturbed from its nest startled her. If James had meant to find privacy, he’d succeeded.

He looked down at her and slipped his arm around her waist. “Eugenia, it will not be so bad. I promise.”

How could she ever make him understand? Frustration surfaced as she looked into his eyes and her deepest fear slipped out unbidden. “Perhaps it is already too late to save me….”

“Not while you still breathe, Gina.” His lips were soft and beseeching as they touched hers, as if making a request or waiting for permission to do more.

She responded in a way she hadn’t known she could, and she realized just how badly she’d wanted this—this closeness, this intimacy, this deep and poignant longing. She surrendered to it, sinking against him with a little moan.

His arms tightened around her, one hand winding through her hair and making a fist, holding her immobile and unable to turn away. Unnecessary, since she’d lost the will for resistance long ago. She wanted to find what lay at the end of this.




Chapter Eight


God help him, Jamie knew better. Gina wanted nothing to do with him, she’d made that clear enough. But when she looked at him with those doe eyes, when he saw the spark—half question, half plea—in her eyes, he had responded without thinking. When she’d fit herself against his body, his own had hardened with his long-suppressed need.

Her lips parted with a sigh and he teased her tongue, relishing her boldness mingled with timidity in the way she tasted him and in the sweetness of her moan. He’d been afraid she would turn away so he held her tight, preventing her from slipping away from him. He needn’t have worried.

From the moment he’d seen her tonight in her ivory gown with the daring décolletage, he’d been longing to do this very thing.

His fingers were tangled in her hair and he pulled her head back, the better to kiss her. The better to nuzzle his way from her earlobe to the hollow of her throat. He nudged the ivory ribbon around her neck aside and kissed the little line of thickened tissue where she’d been nicked by Daschel’s dagger. He could not see that scar without remembering that horrible moment before he’d swept her from the altar when he’d feared she was dead.

He was afraid she would protest at his recognition of her wound, but the sweet vibration of her sigh against his lips nearly drove him wild with desire. Where? Where could he take her? He could not soil her gown on the grass and return her to the fireworks. Nor could he whisk her from the gardens and take her to a private inn, no matter how much he wanted to. But he couldn’t let her go without tasting just a bit more because, when she came to her senses, she would never let anything like this happen again.

He edged his kisses lower, this time nudging the lace of her bodice out of his way and freeing one rose-peaked bud. She shivered, but he did not take pity on her yet. Instead he captured that little bud between his lips and circled it with his tongue. It hardened and formed a taut bead that tasted vaguely of sugared cream and made him hunger for more.

She made a whimpering sound and cupped the back of his head, pressing him closer and whispering something that sounded like his name. What wild music that made in his mind. He nipped gently in response and her hand tightened through his hair.

He relished her unpracticed responses, knowing she’d never done anything like this before. Whatever had been done to her the night of the ritual, whatever she had felt that night, could have been nothing like this. She was too surprised. Too caught up in the madness that possessed them both.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly and her heartbeat hammered against his lips. He knew the signs. She was his for the taking, and he was painfully capable of doing just that. Desperate to do it, in fact. But this was Eugenia. Stunning, brave and principled Eugenia. How could he disregard her wishes or sate himself at her expense? How could he risk loving her, knowing her, only to have her leave him?

A chill went through him and he slowly separated himself from her, straightening and steadying her until she could support herself again. “I…I apologize, Eugenia. I shouldn’t have done that. I know I’ve said that before, but you have my oath it will not happen again.”

She blinked, as if trying to recall where she was or what they’d done, blissfully unaware that the deepened pink of one areola still peeked above her décolletage—a temptation that nearly undid his good intentions. She winced as he sighed and reached out to tug the fabric upward.

Even through the deepened twilight he could see the stain of a blush rise to her cheeks as she turned away from him and struggled to put herself to rights. “You should not start something you do not intend to finish, Mr. Hunter.”

Finish? Everything inside him begged to finish what he’d started. But her accusation…was it a rebuke for stopping? Or for beginning? He wanted to reassure her, and he touched her shoulder in what he hoped she would interpret as support. “Eugenia, my concern was for you. You cannot know what a man—”

She shrugged his hand away and turned to face him, her eyes burning like dark coals. “This is precisely the point, is it not? I cannot, but I should.”

“What—”

“Never mind, Mr. Hunter. It is my problem and has nothing to do with you.” She smoothed the hair he’d tangled and tucked it back into the ribbons.

He wanted to tell her that anything to do with her was his concern, but he knew that would only make her angrier. He was saved the necessity of a reply by a reverberating boom, the first of the fireworks.

She jumped, startled by the sound. “We should be getting back before your sister comes looking for us.”

“Eugenia, about the matter we discussed …”

She took several steps back toward the path. “Our ‘courtship,’ Mr. Hunter?”

“Yes. Perhaps I should have asked you if you are husband hunting.” He followed close on her heels, barely daring to breathe until he had the answer to that question.

She laughed. “That is the last thing on my mind at the minute.”

He exhaled with relief. “Then I cannot see what objection you could have regarding our charade.”

“Your charade,” she corrected as she took the arm he offered.

“You can make this as difficult as you please, Eugenia, or you can cooperate. What you cannot do is stop me. My course is set. And you might want to consider the benefits.”

“There are benefits? For whom?”

“If society thinks I am near to making an offer for you, my name may lend you some measure of protection.”

She looked up at him through the deepening twilight. “Why are you so determined to carry out this scheme…James?”

“I am responsible for you. Had I succeeded in capturing Henley …”

She considered this as they entered the clearing and heeded a wave from Lady Sarah. “You most certainly are not responsible for me, but I…I suppose there can be no harm in pretending if you will try to use a bit of discretion. The less you flaunt it, the less there will be to explain when it ends.”

“Agreed.”

Gina glanced down at her décolletage to be certain everything had been put back in place. She was already humiliated enough and she did not want to rejoin their party betraying any sign of impropriety.

That kiss, more seductive than the last, warned her not to become entangled any further with James Hunter. Indeed, how would she manage to coax information from young men if James was always lurking? How could she trace the only clue she had?

She dropped her hand from his arm to smooth the fabric of her gown, trying to brush away any remaining trace of their indiscretion. Her fingers skimmed a small lump of metal dangling from the corset strings beneath her gown. The shape seemed to burn its impression into her skin. Thank heavens James had gone no further or he might have found the key Christina Race had given her. She must find the lock it fit.

Standing on the steps of St. Mary’s Church as the bell rang the hour of twelve, Gina scanned the crowd for any sign of the street urchins Lilly had introduced to her. In the distance, she could see Nancy amongst the stalls of vegetable vendors. Soon she would rejoin Gina, and they would walk home.

She felt conspicuous and realized meeting so openly with a street child would be noted by any of the family’s friends and acquaintances. She would have to think of a different place. Somewhere more private and less open.

A small head sporting a dirty blue cap bobbed through the crowd in a direct line for her. As he drew closer, he waved and finally joined her on the steps. “Mornin’, Miss Eugenia.”

“Good morning, Ned. Do you have anything for me?”

“Not yet, miss. I been lookin’ though. I rounded up some o’ the lads and told ‘em to keep a look out. Promised a shilling to whoever brought the news.”

Ned was a clever lad. The more eyes on the watch, the more likely Henley would be sighted. “Thank you, Ned. Is there some way you could send to me immediately when you have news? “

“Instead o’ waiting until noon, y’ mean? I dunno. Could knock on yer kitchen door, I suppose.”

“No!” Gina could just imagine the questions she’d face if a street child turned up asking for her. “I…I could meet you twice a day.”

The boy removed his cap and swiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Naw. Shouldn’t take us long to spot ‘im, but that Henley is a wily one. If ‘e catches us. An’ we gots bigger problems than that, miss. If you wants him real quick-like, I’m gonna need ‘elp. One of me mates thinks ‘e saw the gent goin’ into a gamblin’ ‘ell. I can’t get in some o’ the places ‘e goes. I know ‘e’s one fer the ladies, an’ I can’t get in those places either.”

Gina’s mind whirled. She could not ask any of Henley’s peers without alerting James. And he was likely pursuing that angle himself. Aside from that, she could not know if they’d been in league with Henley, which would only land her squarely in more trouble. And she dare not hire a woman for fear of the danger that might befall her.

No, apart from her own inquiries, her best chance of finding Henley lay with Mr. Renquist and this savvy urchin. But the threat of James watching her every minute would keep her from pursuing the matter. Unless she could find a way around him.

He’d declared his intention to escort her home every night. But what if she did not stay at home? What if she met with Ned, instead? She’d sneaked out at night before and managed quite well before she’d run afoul of Mr. Henley. And she’d learned her lesson there—never again would she go anywhere with someone she did not know very, very well.

“Ned, how late are you about at nights?”

“Don’t usually sleep until dawn, miss. Some o’ my best pickin’s are in the wee hours when the gents are deep in their cups and not payin’ attention.”

“Then would you meet me after midnight? I could help you. Perhaps I could disguise myself and gain entry to the places you cannot. I will reimburse you for your losses and also pay anyone else you think may help. But we mustn’t involve too many people. The more who know, the more likely our secret will get out.”

He seemed to consider the matter for a moment, then brightened. “Aye. There’s a few I know ‘oo could ‘elp. An’ they won’t tell, neither. When do y’ wanna start, miss?”

The Morris masquerade was tonight. She was attending with the Thayer twins, but she could beg a headache just before midnight, allow James to escort her home, then sneak away as soon as his carriage disappeared around the corner. But tonight she had important business. If fortune favored her, once she spoke with Mr. Metcalfe, she would have no need of Ned’s services. She would have all the answers she needed.

But Gina had learned nothing if not to be cautious. “Tomorrow night, Ned? Quarter past midnight?” Wherever she found herself tomorrow, she would be sure to be home by then.

“Aye, miss. I’ll wait for ye down the street.”

“Stay hidden, Ned. The neighbors are a bit nosy.”

The atmosphere in the Morris ballroom—indeed, in all the rooms the masquerade spilled into—was lively and gay. More than half the attendees wore elaborate costumes. Others, like Gina, wore bright colors in lieu of a costume and merely sported a mask or a domino. Her mask was crafted from silk sewn with yellow feathers and sparkling jewels to complement her bright yellow gown and she dangled a yellow feathered fan from her left wrist. Hortense had dressed as a shepherdess while Harriett wore a nun’s habit. And James, who had arrived to escort them true to his threat, wore a domino with his usual evening attire. When he had delivered them safely to the ballroom, he’d excused himself to greet some of his friends in the billiards room.

Under the protection of disguise, and relieved of the usual restraint of propriety, the gathering was rife with hilarity and spontaneity. And, unless Gina missed her guess, all were imbibing more than the usual amount of punch laced with alcohol, along with wine and ale.

She wondered how she might find Miss Race in the crush, but removed her mask often enough to make certain Christina could find her. But, so far, not a single trace of a leper. Surely Mr. Metcalfe would not fail to come. Christina had told her how anxious he was to speak with her. She felt the key hidden in her bodice and said a quick silent prayer that her long nightmare would end tonight.

“I do so love masques,” Hortense said, shifting her hooked staff to her other hand. “Though I do wonder how I shall dance with this thing.”

Mr. Booth, another guest who had deigned to wear a domino rather than full costume, approached them with a rakish smile. “I have always had fantasies about dancing with a nun. You must have pity on me, Miss Thayer, and fulfill my dreams at last.”

Harriett laughed in a way no nun would ever laugh, both seductive and pleased. “Granted, Mr. Booth. But mind your manners, sir. I have friends in high places.”

Hortense chuckled as Mr. Booth led her sister away. “And Harri has always had fantasies about Mr. Booth. Two wishes satisfied with one dance.”

“Let us hope that everyone’s wish comes true tonight.”

“Whatever do you mean, Gina? What do you wish for?”

Answers. The truth. “Happy endings,” she murmured.

“Amen,” Hortense agreed. “And sooner would be better. But I think you need not worry over that. James Hunter has very obviously set his intentions on you. Any girl would be mad to refuse him. Charm, looks, wealth. What more could you ask? “

What more indeed? “He has not proposed yet, Hortense, and may not. And should he, I have not decided what my answer will be.” There. That should cut short the wagging tongues of the ton and not raise any unrealistic expectations.

“Mark me, he will be back to claim a waltz. You will see him often before it is time to go and he calls for his carriage.”

“I hope he will not hover,” she said. She did not want Mr. Metcalfe to be hesitant to approach her.

She caught sight of Christina, in an elaborate peacock mask, just entering the ballroom. She was on the arm of a man Gina hadn’t met and she wondered if this was the elusive Mr. Metcalfe. But where was his leper disguise? She waved and caught Christina’s eye.

Hortense followed her glance and grinned widely. “Oh! ‘Tis Christina and her cousin, Mr. Marley. He knows every dance ever and has the most devilish wit. Almost as devilish as Charles Hunter’s. How lovely, they are coming our way.”

The man in question bowed deeply to them as Christina made the introductions and then he promptly swept Hortense into the rollicking reel, leaving Gina to hold her staff. When they were alone, she asked, “Where is Mr. Metcalfe?”

“He said he would meet us here,” Christina told her.

Mr. Metcalfe was clearly afraid of something. Even his costume had likely been chosen to veil his identity. She took a sip of punch, wondering what could cause him to be so cautious.

When the dance ended, Mr. Marley returned Hortense and claimed Christina with a promise that Gina would be next. A quick glance toward the punch bowl told her that Harriett was still occupied with Mr. Booth. When a figure dressed in a long black robe with a cowl pulled low over his face and a small bell around his neck approached her, her heartbeat sped. Mr. Metcalfe, at last!

He held his hand out to her without speaking and she returned Hortense’s staff. Once on the dance floor, the leper turned and lifted his cowl just enough that she could see his face. Yes, this was the man who had been at the tableau with Christina. The dance was a waltz, which would allow them to talk without the interruptions of a reel. Very wise of Mr. Metcalfe.

“Miss O’Rourke, I implore you to drop this matter at once.”

Whatever she’d expected to hear, it was not this earnest plea. “I cannot, sir. I am committed.”

“You are ill prepared for what lies ahead. You cannot succeed.”

“You do not even know what I plan, sir. How can you presume—”

“Because I know Henley. Far too well.”

Gina almost panicked when she noted James on the sidelines, watching her. Had he come to dance with her? Or had someone alerted him?

“I cannot let him get away with what he’s done to my family.”

“And to you, Miss O’Rourke?”

Her cheeks burned. “You were there…that night?”

“To my shame.”

She tried to pull away and caused him to stumble, but he held tight and resumed the step. “You must believe me, Miss O’Rourke. That was the first night I attended one of Daschel and Henley’s ‘passion plays.’ I was appalled when I realized what was going to happen. But…there were so many there that I could not expose myself by going against them.”

“Yet you were willing to allow them to defile and murder me?”

“Murder? I did not know about the murders until the following day, when the news spread like wildfire through the clubs and hells of town.”

Oh, how she dreaded the answer, but she could not stop herself from asking. “How many? How many ‘postulants’ knew who I was? “

“Perhaps a handful. Perhaps less. I was not certain until I saw you here tonight. Most of them were so far gone in their cups and with the hashish Daschel had burning in the incense bowls that they wouldn’t have known their own mothers. Henley laced the wine with opium, you know.”

Opium—enough of it—would explain her drugged state and her inability to remember what had happened to her in the hours before the ritual began. That, at least, could be the answer to one of her questions.

“Still, I cannot let him get away with it,” she murmured more to herself than to Mr. Metcalfe.

“Believe me, I understand. But you must leave this for others. Others more ruthless.”

“I can be as ruthless as I must, Mr. Metcalfe.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You are not a match for a man of Henley’s ilk. You have no idea—”

“Then, pray, enlighten me so that I will not go into battle unprepared.”

There was a long hesitation while Mr. Metcalfe evidently struggled with his conscience, then continued in a lowered voice. “Henley is a patient man. He has been waiting. Waiting for an opportunity to finish off his enemies. I am one of his loose ends. I know too much. I know who—” He stopped as if afraid he’d said too much. But when he continued, his words surprised her.

“And you, Miss O’Rourke, are top of his list. London is not safe for either of us unless, or until, Henley has been dealt with.”

“By whom? Who is left to deal with him, Mr. Metcalfe?

The Home Office has failed twice. If not me, if not you, then who?”

He shook his head as if to deny her words. “I am merely trying to stay alive until he has been caught. I’d advise you to do the same.”

She squeezed his arm to make her point. “I need your help, Mr. Metcalfe. Tell me what you know that makes you fear for your life. Tell me anything you know that could bring him down. Tell me what lock your little key fits and what I will find there.”

“I’ve already said too much.”

The dance ended and Mr. Metcalfe released her, glancing over his shoulder with a harried look. Before she could form a protest, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd almost instantly.

At least she finally had an answer to one of her questions. Now she knew why she couldn’t remember the events of that night. But there was still so much more she needed to know. If she could not remember herself, surely there was someone, somewhere, who could fill in those lost hours.

Her head whirled with the implications of Mr. Metcalfe’s warnings. She needed a moment to think, to gather her composure and plan what she should do next. As the next dance began, she crossed the dance floor to the wide terrace doors and slipped through, ignoring the couples gathered there and others strolling along the paths. She needed to find just a single moment in a quiet place.

She stopped at an ivy-covered arbor and gripped the latticework until her knuckles were white. Gradually she became aware that she’d punctured her thumb on a hidden thorn. She shook her hand. “Ouch!”

Mr. Metcalfe appeared out of the shadows and came to her side. Had he decided to tell her about the key?

He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. He licked the little droplet of blood. Shocked, she pulled her hand away. “Sir!”

He produced a handkerchief from the folds of his black robe and she accepted it reluctantly.

“Delicious,” he said.

A chill spiraled up her spine. That was not Mr. Metcalfe’s voice! Instinctively, she spun around to make a dash for the terrace doors, but the leper’s hand clamped over her mouth and she was yanked back against a hard chest.

“How nice to see you again, my dear. You look just like a pretty little canary. I wonder if your neck will be as easy to break.”

Henley! Dear God!

He began dragging her backward. “But you and I are like the phoenix, m’dear. We have both risen from the ashes, eh? Though I shall rise and soar whilst you shall burn again. Poor little bird.”

A sound, half moan, half muted scream, rose from her throat and he clamped his hand tighter, mashing her lips against her teeth and closing her nostrils.

Henley’s breath was hot and foul against her cheek. “Ah, and here comes your erstwhile savior. How fortunate for me. Now, if I only had a pistol. My, my. Yes, a knife will have to do again.”

James was looking for her, turning in every direction, but he could not see them in the shadows of the arbor. Henley could slash him when he walked past! “Eugenia? Miss O’Rourke?”

Henley chortled. “So proper? Are you not his whore yet?” he asked in a raspy voice.

She brought her heel down sharply on his instep and pulled away at the same time. “Jamie!” she screamed.

He turned toward her voice and came running at full speed. Henley uttered a foul curse and ran in the opposite direction.

Jamie reached her and gripped both her arms as he looked into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

She forced her tears back as she nodded and pointed in the opposite direction, her throat raw. “Henley!”

“Run to the house. Do not stop until you are there. Find Charlie and tell him what’s happened.” He took off in pursuit and she thought she heard him utter an equally foul curse.




Chapter Nine


The gardens were empty near the back mews. No sign of Henley, damn it all! The man could not have doubled back or Jamie would have seen him. He arrived at a scene of confusion at the stables.

“… just took his lordship’s stallion and rode off,” one groom was saying to another.

Jamie could still hear the hoofbeats in the distance. “Who?” he shouted.

The stable hands turned to him. “A leper, sir. Dressed like a leper. I was just saddling Lord Grenleigh’s stallion when the man ran up, knocked me on my arse, took the reins and rode away. What’ll I tell his lordship, sir?”

Jamie couldn’t think of that now. Only that Henley had gotten away again and by the time his coach was made ready Henley would be enjoying a pint in whatever hole he hid in. “Have my driver ready my carriage and bring it around front. I’ll give Grenleigh the news.”

“Thank ye, sir.” The stable master tipped his cap with a look of profound relief.

Damn Henley, that misbegotten son of Satan! Jamie strode back through the gardens, his head down, hoping to find some clue, some hint of Henley’s presence or an indication of where he’d been. In the shadows of the arbor, the toe of his shoe skimmed something soft and pliable. He looked down, startled to see something that looked suspiciously like a hand.

He knelt and parted the shrubbery. A man’s body, covered partially by the foliage, had been hidden beneath the branches. Dreading what he might find, he rolled the body over. Bloody hell…Stanley Metcalfe. The very man Jamie had been searching for this past week. Henley had gotten to him first.

Metcalfe’s pale blue eyes were still open and his mouth gaped in a silent scream. A quick inspection of the still-warm body revealed that the crimson-stained vest had a clean cut through to the flesh. Metcalfe’s death had not been easy. Had Eugenia seen the body?

“Holy Mother of God,” Charlie whispered over Jamie’s shoulder. “What happened?”

Icy cold pierced Jamie’s heart. “Where is Eugenia?”

“Inside. I calmed her, told her to say nothing, and took her to the Thayers with instructions not to leave the ballroom. Then I came to find you.”

“She told you Henley—”

Charlie nodded and knelt beside him. “Shall I assume he melted into the night as is his wont?”

He gave his brother a rueful smile. “Not quite. He stole Grenleigh’s prize stallion.”

“Not very sporting of him, was it?”

He ignored the attempt at levity. “He had her, Charlie. God only knows what would have happened….” He looked down at Metcalfe’s body again, knowing that Henley had planned something of the same sort for her.

“But he doesn’t have her now,” Charlie said in a deadly calm voice. “And we shall see to it that he never has that chance again. Meantime, we will have to inform Wycliffe and our erstwhile host. ‘Twould seem the party is over.”

“Not yet.” Jamie passed his hand over Metcalfe’s face to close his eyes before he stood. “Let me take Eugenia and the Thayer girls away first. I need to talk to her before the Home Office interrogates her. And the Thayers do not need to be a part of this. My carriage should be waiting around front. Once I have them home, I will come back and we shall handle this as discreetly as possible. Oh, and tell Grenleigh he’ll have to find other transportation tonight, will you?”

Charlie helped him arrange the branches again to shield Metcalfe’s body from immediate discovery. “You know what this means, do you not?”

“That Henley is growing bolder. And that boldness must be a measure of his desperation.”

“He will only escalate from here. He’ll get careless and, sooner or later, we will catch him.”

Jamie clenched his fists. “He’ll come after Eugenia again.”

“And you, Jamie. He has already tried to stop you, and he won’t quit now.”

Gina hid behind her vivid yellow mask, careful to betray no outward sign of distress, though she’d been seething with suppressed anxiety. Where was James? Had Henley used his knife? Was James dead in an alley somewhere? And how had Henley known where to find her?

Hortense and Harriett had been teeming with questions when they’d seen how shaken she was. She’d settled for a version of the truth, telling them only that she’d been accosted in the gardens by a man in a costume. They had steadfastly flanked her since that moment, refusing dances and making inconsequential conversation to cover Gina’s lack of attention.

She could only watch the terrace doors and pray that James was safe.

She nearly collapsed with relief when she saw him come through the terrace doors and scan the ballroom until he caught sight of her. But the look on his face was not reassuring as he came directly to their little group. She managed a smile as he approached, certain he would not want her to give their business away.

Hortense sighed when he offered a slight bow. “Oh, here you are! Did you catch him?”

He glanced at Gina and she knew he was wondering how much she had told them. “I told Hortense and Harriett about the stranger who accosted me in the gardens before you arrived in time to rout him.”

“To be accosted in such a manner by a complete stranger!” Harriett said with an indignant look on her pretty face. “I told Gina we should report the incident to Mr. Morris at once, but she would not hear of it until you came back.”

He gave Gina a slight nod of approval, clearly relieved that she’d prevented the twins from spreading alarm though the gathering. “I will take care of that presently,” he told them. “But first I think I should take you home. I would be remiss in my duty as your escort to allow you to be present if there should be any problems.”

“Do you really think there will be problems? Could that dreadful man yet be lurking in the gardens?” Hortense asked.

“I believe I frightened him off.” He cast a reassuring glance in Gina’s direction. “But we should not take any chances. I’ve had my carriage brought round.”

Harriett sighed, whether in relief or disappointment, she could not guess. “You are too kind, sir,” she said.

They made a quiet exit and were safely on their way before any fuss could be made. The Thayer home was their first stop, and James handed the twins down from the carriage with a courtly flourish. Both girls thanked him graciously and quickly promised him dances the following night.

He settled himself beside Gina as the carriage started off again. Before she could ask, he posed a question of his own.

“Did he hurt you?”

She removed her mask and sighed. Where she had once been uncomfortable with James, she was now relieved to be alone with him. She hadn’t realized the strain she’d been under to keep her composure until that very moment.

“He was going to break my neck. When he saw you, he said he had a knife. What happened when you went after him? I was so afraid you’d fought and that he …” She began to shiver, unwilling to even entertain the notion that James might not have returned to her. That Henley could have killed him.

He took her hand between his to stop her trembling. “He’d stolen a horse and gotten away before I got to the stables.”

She frowned. “But you were gone so long.”

“There’s more, Eugenia. I have been searching for a man who could have helped us find Henley. Stanley Metcalfe. I found him dead beneath some bushes when I was returning to the house.”

Dead? But she’d just danced with him. There must be some mistake. “Are you certain it was Mr. Metcalfe?”

“He’d been knifed. I wanted you safely away before anyone could question you. Should anyone ask, you know nothing about the entire affair.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I danced with him. He warned me that Henley wanted to kill me.”

“Metcalfe?” he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. “Was this something to do with your search for Henley?”

“I…I was to meet him tonight. To persuade him to help me. He’d been hiding from Mr. Henley, afraid to appear in public. Oh, I wish he’d never come to meet me.”

“I didn’t see you dance with him, Eugenia.”

The tone of his voice should have warned her. “He was dressed as a leper. But he disappeared so quickly after our dance that I was unable to question him further.”

“Leper? Was that not the costume Henley was wearing when he attacked you?”

She nodded. “I thought he was Mr. Metcalfe. I thought he’d come back to tell me …”

James groaned. “Blast it all! Henley killed Metcalfe and stole his costume to get close to you before you discovered who he was. But what did Metcalfe have to tell you?”

The hidden key burned its impression into the soft flesh of her bosom. If she told James about it, he would take it from her. He was so stubbornly determined to protect her from herself that she could not trust him. “Something more,” she improvised. “Perhaps where to find Mr. Henley. Or where he is living.”

“How did you draw him out of hiding?”

“Miss Race. His fiancée. She interceded for me. He was dreadfully afraid of Mr. Henley. He said he knew something that Mr. Henley would kill him for.” Suddenly the horror of the situation struck her. “Oh! Miss Race! She will be devastated. I should go to her. Be with her when she hears the awful news.”

“Did she come with him?”

“She came with friends. Mr. Metcalfe was in the habit of meeting her wherever she went.”

“Then she would best hear it tomorrow in the privacy of her own home. But think carefully, Eugenia. Did Metcalfe say what he knew?”

“That is not the sort of thing I’d be likely to forget, sir. No. He did not tell me what it was.”

He cupped her cheek and turned her face to his. “Now I’ve made you angry. That wasn’t my intention.”

She flinched at his touch. “I dislike being interrogated as if I’ve done something wrong.”

“Wrong? No, Eugenia. But you’ve done something reckless and dangerous. You’ve put yourself at risk when you’ve promised you wouldn’t. Ask questions. That’s what you said you were going to do.”

Gina’s conscience tweaked her. That was all she’d done. So far. But she’d made plans to do more with Ned. She would have to meet him tomorrow night and beg off. The incident with Henley had shaken her more than she’d wanted to admit.

James ran his thumb over her lower lip, his voice deadly calm. “‘Tis swollen, Eugenia. Did Henley steal a kiss?”

“He had his hand over my mouth. He was dragging me away from the arbor.” To kill her and leave her body beside Mr. Metcalfe’s, no doubt.

He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to turn away. But she couldn’t. His mouth was soft and gentle as he cherished her lower lip before took her whole mouth in a kiss no less exciting than those that had come before, but somehow more comforting, reassuring.

The carriage stopped in front of Andrew’s house, jolting her out of the hypnotic hold James had over her. Slowly, and with a heavy sigh, he released her scant moments before the driver opened the door. He got out and offered his hand to help her down.

“Are you returning to the masque?”

“Yes. Charlie is waiting and we will need to inform Mr. Morris that there is a dead body in his garden. He has likely sent for Wycliffe already.”

“You will let me know what happens?”

“Tomorrow.” He took her arm, walked her to the door and waited while she rummaged for her key in her reticule. He took it from her and unlocked the door. “Good evening, Eugenia,” he said as he opened the door.

She stepped into the foyer and stopped. At least eight crates were stacked floor to ceiling just inside the door. Suddenly she could not breathe. Had Mama found early passage?

“Eugenia? What …”

Alerted by her sudden halt, he followed her into the foyer. “You did not mention you were leaving,” he said after a moment.

“I did not know.” She turned and looked at him. “Mama must have found an earlier departure.”

“When?”

She shook her head. “She did not say a word to me. Passage must have become available suddenly.”

He looked at her and she knew there was something he wanted to say, but he merely bowed, turned on his heel, and closed the door behind him as he departed.

The thought of Mr. Henley escaping justice haunted her, but the realization that she might never see James again tore at her heart. How had she let things go so far? How had she let herself love James?

She could not change one, but she could do something about the other. There was no more time for fear or hesitation. Tomorrow she would meet Ned as planned, and she would do whatever she must to bring Henley’s reign of terror to an end.

As he climbed back in his carriage and gave his driver instructions to return to the masquerade, cold fury gripped Jamie’s viscera. Once again, Henley had damaged Eugenia. Once again, Jamie had failed to protect her. But any qualms he’d had about killing Henley to prevent a public trial had disappeared the instant he’d seen her swollen lip and the tiny bruise on one side of her throat. The knowledge that Eugenia had been so close to death horrified and angered him. Henley would pay for that.

Even more unsettling was the realization that his time with Eugenia was over. She would be gone from London and from his life. And the emptiness would return—the mindless, meaningless affairs, the endless days and nights, the soul-deep loneliness that no amount of friends or family could fill. Since he’d met her, the emptiness had receded and been filled with memories of her voice, her eyes, the warmth of her skin, the lushness of her mouth and the sweetness of her sighs.

No doubt it was for the best. He’d take that post with the Foreign Office. He’d lose himself in service to the king. Somewhere, he’d find a meaning for his hitherto wasted life.

On his arrival back at the masquerade, Lord Marcus Wycliffe was waiting for him in the foyer. “Charlie is with Mr. Morris in his private study. I said we’d join them as soon as you arrived.”

Jamie nodded, noting that the orchestra still played and that guests were still strolling the rooms. “Has he told you what’s afoot?”

Wycliffe rolled his eyes heavenward as he led Jamie down a corridor to Morris’s study. “Just that there is a body in the garden.”

Jamie nodded as Wycliffe knocked and opened the study door. Charlie and Mr. Morris turned to them, and Jamie noted the strained look on Morris’s face. Without asking, Charlie went to a sideboard and a bottle of brandy to pour two more glasses.

“Now that we’re all here, someone damn well better tell me what is going on here,” Morris said.

Jamie took a glass from his brother. “I suppose Charlie told you there’d been an incident in the gardens?”

“And that’s all he’d say until you and Wycliffe arrived. I thought I saw you earlier.”

“I took the young woman in question home. I thought you’d want to keep this as quiet as possible.”

“What, damn it all? What should I keep quiet?”

“One of your guests was assaulted.”

“What? Who?”

“Miss O’Rourke. Rest assured, she is well and safely home. I cannot say the same for one of your other guests.”

“Damn cryptic of you, Hunter.”

“First, I wanted to see your guest list and ask if you spoke with Cyril Henley tonight?”

Morris reluctantly riffled through his desk drawer, brought forth a list of names three pages long. “Henley? I haven’t seen him for months. I do not think he was invited tonight.”

Since Morris did not seem willing to turn the guest list over, Jamie leaned forward and took it. He scanned the names until he found one he was looking for. Oddly, Henley had been invited, but so had Metcalfe. And that raised the question, why had Morris lied? He would have been the one to provide his wife with the specific names of friends he wanted invited.

“I encountered Henley in the garden,” he said. “He was the man who assaulted Miss O’Rourke.”

“Henley …” Morris flushed with a look half angry, half disbelieving. “Why would he assault Miss O’Rourke?”

Morris had to be aware of Henley’s reputation with women. “His reasons aside, Miss O’Rourke recognized him. He wore a leper’s costume to mask his identity. What of Stanley Metcalfe?”

“Er, yes. I believe Metcalfe was invited.”

“He, too, wore a leper’s costume. Miss O’Rourke danced with him. When Henley approached her in the garden, she thought it was Metcalfe.”

“But what has that to do with anything?”

“I chased Henley to the stables where he stole Grenleigh’s stallion and got away.”

“Grenleigh? Hell and damnation! He’ll have my hide.”

Charlie gave a grim laugh. “He is not too pleased, but I lent him mine. I warrant the horse will turn up in a day or two. Henley will not keep anything that would give his identity or location away.”

Morris drank the entire contents of his glass in a single gulp. “So this is it, then? Henley assaulted a girl who is safely home and took Grenleigh’s prize stallion which will turn up in a day or two?”

“Alas, there’s more to it than that. When I came back through the garden after chasing Henley, I stumbled across Mr. Metcalfe. He’d been stabbed in the chest and hidden in the bushes behind the arbor.”

“Is he all right?”

“Afraid not, Morris. He’s dead. The question is, how shall we handle this unfortunate event?”

Morris’s mouth moved but did not form any intelligible words.

Wycliffe finished his brandy and slammed his glass down on the sideboard with a resounding thud. “Metcalfe. Damnation! Another lead silenced.”

“So my question is this,” Jamie continued, determined to get to the bottom of the matter. “Where did you send Henley’s invitation, and when did you last talk to him?”

“I…I…He came to me. Here. He’d heard about the masquerade and wanted to attend. ‘Twas he who asked me to put Stanley Metcalfe on the guest list. I did not see him tonight.”

So Henley had devised this plan to get at Metcalfe. Poor bastard. He’d never had a chance. But there was still another question. “Why would you oblige a man like Henley? Surely you’ve heard the rumors.”

If Morris had looked uncomfortable before, he now looked as if he were about to flee. “He was blackmailing me. I…I was present at Daschel’s passion play. Or that’s what I thought it was. It was actually a—”

“We know what it was,” Wycliffe interrupted. “So he was threatening to expose you if you did not do as he asked?”

Morris acknowledged with a curt nod.

“There’s more,” Jamie guessed.

“I’ve been paying him. Large sums of money.”

“How?”

“He waits outside my club. Demands cash.”

Cash. Large sums of it. Why would Henley need large sums of money when he was living in Whitefriars? And was Morris the only one from whom he was extorting funds?

Morris was a member of Brooks’s, an elegant establishment in St. James Street. Henley would have to lurk in the shadows to avoid being recognized, but it could be useful to set a watch on the place. A glance at Wycliffe and Charlie told him that they were thinking the same thing.

“Are you going to arrest me?” Morris asked Wycliffe.

“If you were no more involved with the Brotherhood than you say, Morris, you needn’t worry. If you were…we’ll be back. At the moment we need to deal with the damage done tonight.

“The guests are beginning to leave. We will keep this quiet until tomorrow. Charlie, go to the arbor and make certain no one stumbles across Metcalfe meanwhile. Morris, encourage the guests not to linger. Remove the punch bowl and cork the wine bottles.”

“They will think I am penurious!” Morris blustered.

“Would you rather they panic when they learn there’s a dead body in your garden or sneer when they learn that you’ve been paying blackmail, and why? “

The man sank heavily into his chair.

“We have use for you, Morris. Keep your mouth shut and your head down and you may yet get out of this untainted.”




Chapter Ten


Gina stood still, rooted to the little stool while Madame Marie pinned the hem of her new gown. But it was not the hem with its little train that concerned her. It was the provocative décolletage. True to her word, Madame Marie had crafted a gown that was sure to draw attention. Styles were changing, but Gina had not yet worn a gown with a neckline that curved over her breasts and dipped to a point midway between them.

She traced the curve of the blue French silk with one finger, studying her reflection in the looking glass. “Are…are you certain I will not cause a scandal?”

“Mais non! The style is perfection for your figure, chéri. Smaller bosoms and there would be no point. Larger, and it would make you look like a demirep, eh? Ah, but this much will tease the senses and disarm your suitors. The men—they will appreciate the titillation, yes? They will tell you anything you ask.”

“You…you’re certain I will not be banished from polite society?”

Marie, a lovely woman, gave a full-throated laugh. “You must tell me when you plan to wear this gown, chéri. The ladies of the ton will be crowding at my door the next morning, demanding a gown of the same cut.”

“If you are certain,” she conceded, not at all certain herself. She was glad that Nancy, waiting in the outer room for her, could not see the gown. If the maid told Mama, that would be the end of it.

Madame Marie called entry at a soft knock on the private door and Mr. Renquist entered, then halted in his tracks, blinking several times. Madame had been correct. His eyes went directly to her décolletage. Oddly, after a moment of embarrassment, Gina felt empowered, as if she were in control of the situation.

“Have I interrupted?”

“Mais non, m’amour. What do you think of our little Gina now?”

“That it is a good thing she has the protection of the Hunter family.”

“Ah, you appreciate the nuance?” Madame asked, tongue in cheek.

“Perhaps a bit too much nuance?” he ventured.

“Oh, la! You are such a proper one, François. Little Gina will ‘ave the ton eating from ‘er ‘and.”

Gina smiled, suspecting the modiste had been quite experienced before her marriage to Mr. Renquist.

“The male half,” Mr. Renquist muttered as he sat on a small chair in one corner while Madame continued to pin her hem.

“Have you discovered anything, sir?” she asked.

“Progress is slow, Miss O’Rourke. I’ve learned that, until recently, Mr. Henley occupied rooms above a public house in Whitefriars. But for sleeping, he was rarely there. Following the raid two weeks ago, he disappeared, taking most of his belongings with him.

“Since then, he has been spotted from time to time at various establishments in Whitefriars, never staying one place very long. I gather that is the reason for his success in evading capture. Speculation has it that he has found quarters in more desirable environs but that he still frequents the pubs of Whitefriars.

“My sources were less forthcoming when I inquired as to Mr. Henley’s companions. Apart from various prosti—soiled doves, he has occasionally been seen with the worst scum Whitefriars has to offer, the Gibbons brothers among them. On rare occasions, he has been seen with gents, and rarer still, genteel ladies.

“I am devising a plan whereby I may be able to cross his path, Miss O’Rourke. Should that be the case, I shall follow him and send to you of his location immediately, but you should know that I am bound to notify the Home Office, as well.”

She nodded. She had no objection to the Home Office benefiting from Mr. Renquist’s investigations. In fact, if they could manage it on their own, she would not have become involved. But, should she find him first.

Mr. Renquist cleared his throat and went on. “Mr. Henley departed his last accommodations rather quickly, and the proprietor has a small box of items he left behind. If you are inclined, I shall purchase it from him for the unpaid portion of the rent.”

“Did you see what it contained?”

“The proprietor wished me to pay for that pleasure.”

“Then yes, please. Acquire it by any means. If it contains even the smallest clue …”

“Aye, Miss O’Rourke. Consider it done.”

Nancy tugged her sleeve, wanting to leave. “Oh, miss, should we really be here? Like as not, she isn’t receiving.”

Gina held her ground on the stoop of the Race home in Russell Square. “Then I shall leave my card. How can I not offer my condolences? Christina was very good to me when I had few friends in the ton.”

“Yes, miss, but—”

The door opened and a maid in a starched white apron answered.

“Is Miss Race at home?” Gina asked.

“She is, but she is not receiving this afternoon, miss.”

Gina took a card from her reticule and passed it to the maid. “Will you please tell her that Miss O’Rourke is here? I think she may wish to see me.”

The maid nodded and hurried away, leaving the door open but no invitation to step in.

Nancy tugged her sleeve again and whispered, “T’ain’t a good time, miss.”

“She may only have been a fiancée, but she is nonetheless bereaved.” James had not given her details of what had happened last night and Gina was desperate to assure herself of Christina’s safety. Pray she had not been present for the awful deed, or that Henley had not gone after her when his attack on Gina failed.

The maid was back and opened the door wider to admit them. Nancy looked down at the floor and went to sit on a small chair in the foyer, where servants were accustomed to waiting, while Gina followed the maid up a flight of stairs and down a corridor.

After a soft knock, the maid opened the door to admit Gina and closed it after her. The draperies had been drawn and the room was cast in gloom. She blinked to adjust to the darkness. “Christina?”

A deep and melancholy sigh answered her. “Thank you for coming, Gina. I wondered if you would.”

She followed the sound of the voice and found Cristina, still in her wrapper, curled up in a chair, at least a dozen handkerchiefs abandoned on the floor near her. She knelt beside the chair and took one of Christina’s hands.

“I am so sorry, Christina. I blame myself. Had I not asked for his help …”

“It would have happened anyway.” The girl looked down at her with infinite sadness in her hollow eyes. Her face was flushed and puffy from crying.

“But I forced him out of hiding. Had he stayed away—”

“Stanley has been hiding for weeks now, Gina. Mr. Henley was blackmailing him. It did not begin with you.”

“Blackmail? But what could Mr. Henley have held over Mr. Metcalfe’s head?”

“I cannot say. Other than his attendance at an event that went horribly wrong, Stanley was not the sort to engage in wrongdoing. I believe he felt complicit for something, though he swore he did not know the full measure of the consequences.”

The Brotherhood. Of course. Mr. Metcalfe had said as much to her in their short meeting. Had Mr. Henley been threatening to turn him over to the authorities if he did not pay hush money? But there had to be more. Mr. Metcalfe had readily admitted his involvement with the Brotherhood to her. He’d said he knew things. Things Mr. Henley would kill for.

“Did he ever talk about that night, Christina? Did he ever tell you anything that might damage Mr. Henley?”

She nodded, and her unbound dark hair fell over her face, shielding her as she began to weep again. “I cannot tell you without damaging Stanley’s reputation.”

“Did he tell you what the key opened? He hurried away before he could—”

“He only told me to give it to you, and that you would know what it opened.”

But she didn’t. Unless this, too, was something she had forgotten that night. But she could only press Christina for the one thing that might save her life. “Please reconsider, Christina. If Mr. Henley killed Mr. Metcalfe over the knowledge you hold, and then suspects you might know, too, he might want to silence you, as well.”

She gasped and pushed the hair away from her face to look at Gina. “Surely not!”

“I cannot be certain, but can we put anything past the man at this point? All I know for certain is that Mr. Henley must be stopped, by whatever means possible. Stanley would not want you dead, and your best protection is to tell the authorities, the Home Office and whoever else will listen. The more people who know the secret, the less reason Mr. Henley would have to kill for it.”

“I will not be leaving the house for several months, Gina. Can I be safe in my own home?”

Gina wished she could reassure her. Wished none of this had ever happened. Wished, too, that she’d never enlisted Christina’s help. She shrugged. “I do not know.”

Christina sniffed. “It would feel like a betrayal if I told now.” A fresh storm of weeping shook Christina’s shoulders. She buried her face in her hands and Gina could not imagine the depth of Christina’s sorrow until she thought of losing James. Oh, she was prepared to leave for Ireland and never see him again. But to know that he no longer breathed, no longer smiled? Intolerable, unbearable.

“If I could turn back time, I would rather die myself than be the cause of Mr. Metcalfe’s death or your grief. And, though I would never ask it again, I cannot ever thank you enough for your help, and everything you’ve done. I will leave you now, but should you change your mind and decide to tell me Mr. Metcalfe’s secret, send to me and I shall come at once.”

Gina closed the door after herself, catching one last glimpse of Christina, her dark head still bowed over her hands.

A heavy mist descended, obscuring the light from the single lamppost at the end of the street. A dense fog would follow, and Gina shivered.

She’d begged off the affair she was slated to attend earlier, pleading a crushing headache. James had feigned disappointment, though she had read the relief in his deep violet eyes. And when the household had retired for the evening, she’d crept downstairs to “borrow” some clothing from the laundry tub. Now dressed in a gray woolen dress, brown boots a size too large and a frayed brown shawl over her head, she was virtually unrecognizable.

“Miss Gina?”

Or so she’d thought. “Is that you, Ned?”

The boy stepped out of the mist and pulled his cap off his tousled head. “Aye, miss. I thought it was you, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“I did not know how to dress. Will this be suitable?”

He grinned. “I ‘spose so, miss. Wasn’t takin’ you anywhere fancy tonight. One o’ the lads said ‘e saw Mr. H go in the Cat’s Paw. That’s a gin house near Petticoat Lane.” He stood back and squinted at her through the gloom. “They won’t let me in there, miss. Say I gotta shave first. But y’look like you belong there, miss. Won’t no one bother you if you keeps yer head down.”

“What shall I do?”

“Listen, miss.” He put his cap on and pulled the brim low over his forehead. “You orders somethin’ to drink, and then you just disappears into the walls and listen, if y’know what I mean. Maybe you’ll see Mr. H, maybe not. Maybe you’ll ‘ear something about where ‘e is.”

Yes, she thought she could do that much. But what did one order in a gin house? She pondered that as Ned started off at a fast pace, leading her farther and farther from familiar surroundings. She wondered if she’d ever be able to find her own way home. “Will you wait for me, Ned?”

“Aye, miss. Outside.”

She took comfort from that much, at least, as her environs became poorer and more dismal. They passed taverns and public houses where raucous conversations carried into the streets and drunks lay where they’d been tossed. The women she’d seen were surely disreputable, since all women with a mind to their reputations would be safely home after dark in this area.

“Where are we, Ned?”

“Whitechapel, miss. Just around the corner.”

And, true to his word, he halted at a sign with a painted black cat raising one paw. Beneath it was a low door with a stone stoop to step over, and she wondered if that was to keep sewage out during a heavy rain. A dim light cast a yellow glow in a window just above the door. She was relieved the rising fog kept her from seeing more clearly. The stench was bad enough without having to see what caused it.

She took a sixpence from her boot. Would that be enough? Should she take off the boot and shake out a shilling? Sensing her hesitancy, Ned gave her a little push over the threshold.

Gina had never been in an establishment like this one. It was dirty, foul smelling and dark; she had to stop just inside the door to brace herself and take her bearings. A long counter against one wall served as the bar and had shelves behind it with bottles of various sizes and colors. Were they all gin? At least ten tables were scattered to each side of the door but only a few were occupied this late at night. Another door opposite the one she’d entered was closed, and she wondered if it led to the privy or apartments where the light had shone just above the tavern door.

A man sitting at a table was staring at her and she quickly went to the bar and placed the sixpence on the grimy surface. The barkeeper, an unshaven man with few teeth and dirty hands, shuffled toward her, looked down at her coin, took a tin cup from the counter behind him and went to a barrel. He pulled the tap, seemed to measure the amount with one squinted eye and brought the cup to Gina.

She kept her head down and neither of them spoke. As he walked away, she breathed with relief and took her cup to a table near the door. She had passed the first test. Now, according to Ned, all she had to do was make herself inconspicuous.

After a moment, all interest in her ceased and the low tones of conversation resumed. Once she became accustomed to the drone of voices, she could distinguish a few words. Her eyes adjusted to the meager light of the few candles and the dirty oil lamp on the bar, and she noticed four men at a back table. Though she could not make them out, or catch their conversation, there was something hauntingly familiar in the tone.

As she strained to hear, she lifted her cup to her mouth and took a sip. She nearly choked. Struggling to catch her breath and not spit the swill back into the cup, she forced the liquid down her throat.

Gin? This was gin? Dreadful! How could anyone drink it? She coughed and took another swallow to force the first down. Her eyes watered and she wiped them with the back of her sleeve.

When she looked up again, she was startled to see that attention was again focused on her. Too late, she remembered to keep her head down. The brown shawl she’d kept over her head had fallen back when she coughed and she hurried to pull it back into place.

An argument erupted at the back table and Gina froze. She knew that voice now. And she could never forget the inflection of his voice when he swore. James Hunter. But what was he doing here? Looking for Mr. Henley?

She pulled the shawl even lower over her head, took another swallow of the gin and stood. She had to get out of there before she was recognized. Three steps and she was out the door, scarcely pausing to catch her breath. The fog had thickened and disoriented her, but she turned in the direction she thought they’d come and took several steps.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/dorothy-elbury/regency-rakes-reputations-a-rake-by-midnight-the-rake-s-fin/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.