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A Rake by Midnight
Gail Ranstrom


Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesA short conversation with Gail Ranstrom will convince readers that she should have written a book titled "Jobs I Have Had. " Before taking up the pen, her work experience ran the gamut from a seamstress making waitress uniforms for a German beer garden, to inventory clerk at the University of Montana where she was attacked by a chimpanzee, stepped on dead lab rats in dark basements and located missing satellite spy cameras in–oh, wait, that's classified–to advertising coordinator and PR writer.Most recently Gail was a commercial property manager in the Los Angeles area, troubleshooting incidents as wide ranging as having a SWAT team surrounding one of her buildings, a naked men in the ladies' restroom and rattlesnakes coiled in front of tenants' doors. In between, she partnered with a good friend in an antique business. Don't even get her started on her experiences at antique auctions!She enjoys traveling frequently to see her children in Montana and Florida and to visit friends and a brother in London. As an unabashed Anglophile, she says she could easily spend months in the Cotswolds, an entire summer in Scotland or a year in London. Sometimes that "other Eden" feels more like home to her than her real home.Gail writes historical romance fiction because she loses herself in the past more completely than she can in the present or future. Combine that with her lifelong love of words and reading, the desire to entertain and the fact that she's too shy to do stand-up comedy, and what was left?To aid her in writing romance fiction, she credits fabulous friendships with remarkable women, from family and bridge clubs to work mates and writers' groups. They are the models for her heroines: strong, intelligent and beautiful, while still managing to be caring and vulnerable and very human. Gail says that it is their strength of character and grace under fire that have been her inspiration. And every hero must be a man worthy of them.Readers can contact Gail at GailRanstrom@cs. com.









“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. 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. 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.



A Rake by Midnight

Harlequin


Historical #1013—October 2010




Author’s Note


As I near the end of the Hunter brothers’ stories, I have been asked by readers what I have planned for the future. That’s a difficult question to answer. By the time I finish one book, the next character is usually whispering in my ear, telling me a story that I just have to write. So when I finished A Rake by Midnight, Charles Hunter was telling me about this woman he knew, who… Well, you get the idea. And now that I’m nearing the end of that story, a new voice is calling my name. He inhabits the same world of Regency Noir, but he is reluctant to make a comment so early on. Very hush-hush, you know. Clandestine operations, and all that. Please check in for updates!

Meantime, I hope you enjoy A Rake by Midnight.



With affection and gratitude to my readers, who have embraced my characters and the world they inhabit.




A Rake by Midnight

Gail Ranstrom















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




Available from Harlequin


Historical and GAIL RANSTROM


A Wild Justice #617

Saving Sarah #660

The Christmas Visit #727

“A Christmas Secret”

The Rake’s Revenge #731

The Missing Heir #753

The Courtesan’s Courtship #783

Broken Vows, Mended Hearts #803

“Paying the Piper”

Indiscretions #824

Lord Libertine #868

Unlacing Lilly #912

A Regency Christmas #967

“A Little Christmas”

A Rake by Midnight #1013




Praise for

Gail Ranstrom


Lord Libertine

“[T]his dark tale…neatly juxtaposes the seamier side of the Regency period with the glittering superficiality of ‘polite society’…a good choice for the Halloween season.”

—Library Journal

The Courtesan’s Courtship

“This book should not be missed.”

—Rakehell

The Rake’s Revenge

“Ranstrom crafts an intriguing mystery, brimming with a fine cast of strong and likable characters and a few surprises.”

—RT Book Reviews

The Missing Heir

“Ranstrom draws us into this suspenseful tale right up to the very end.”

—RT Book Reviews




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue




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 lamp lighter 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 woman-kind?”

“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.”




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